
































































Copyright N?._..U L 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






















Heroes 

OF 



“The Captain was unconscious hut 
Andre managed , bit by bit , to move 
his body up onto the wheelbarrow ” 















fit tie Heroes 
of France 

% 

Kathleen 'Burke, C.B.6. 



Illustrated 

by 

Faul Verrees 


(garden Qty Dfew York 
‘Doubleday > Fage & tympany 
1920 



to - i7<bO0' 







OCT -4 1920 


COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 


©CI.A597642 

"VO 1 




THIS BOOK 
IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
TO 

SIX DEAR AMERICAN CHILDREN 


RICHARD S. CHILDS 
CORNELIUS CRANE 
WILLIAM DOHRMAN 


SALLY GOODELL 
FLORENCE CRANE 
NANCY HORSLEY SCOTT 



































































































































































































CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Andre Lange and His Wheelbarrow . 3 

II. Madeleine and Andre Daniau . 15 

III. Denise Cartier.29 

IV. Robert Felix.47 

V. Louise Haumont. 63 

VI. Louis and Marcelle Denisot . . 75 

VII. Baby Pierre. 95 

VIII. Gustave Daret. 139 

TX. Rene Chautier. 159 

X. Etienne Chevrille. 183 

XI. Emile Depres.201 

XII. Henriette Maubert.215 

vli 





























LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“The Captain was unconscious but An¬ 
dre managed to move his body up 
onto the wheelbarrow” . .Frontispiece 

PAGE 

“Andre went into the yard, harnessed 
the horse, and, assisted by Madeleine, 


loaded the cart with bread . 

14 

“The child was suffering agony” . 

28 

“‘We are like real soldiers now that we 
have gas masks’”. 

46 

“Across the road she darted, and reached 
the wood without being seen” . 

62 

“‘Now he is dead, and cannot speak, 
shoot me!’”. 

74 

“‘If any German tried to hurt me I 
would get a big stick and fight him’” 

94 

“The French soldiers let loose a mighty 
cheer as Gustave and his burden 


came near”. 

ix 

138 



X 


J*$st of Illustrations 

PAGE 

“He cut the braces holding the man’s 
equipment, ripped up his coat and 
shirt, dabbed the wound with iodine, 
and bandaged him as well as he 


could”.158 

“ Etienne climbed up onto the barrel and 

placed his rifle in position ” . . . 182 

“He seized the rifle, and shot straight at 

the German officer”.200 

“They flung up their hands, at the 

same time begging for mercy” . . 214 



INTRODUCTION 


I T WILL, I am sure, interest readers of 
this book to know something of the per¬ 
sonality of its author and of the circum¬ 
stances that brought her into immediate 
touch with the war, both in its grim and dra¬ 
matic phases. 

Mrs. Peabody—Miss Kathleen Burke of the 
war period—is an English woman of Irish 
descent and in large measure French educa¬ 
tion. Her family record harks back to the 
Eleventh Century and to one “de Burgh” 
who came with William the Conqueror. In 
the course of the centuries the family , has 
given to Britain and to the Empire many 
names and services of high distinction, that 
of the great Edmund Burke among them. 

Within a week of the day when the German 
Army entered Belgium Miss Burke, under 
government appointment, was en route to 
Serbia as Secretary of a Relief Commission. 
On returning to England some months later 

xi 


xii Introduction 

she was called upon to set forth conditions as 
they were found by relief workers in Serbia; 
and it was in this exposition that there was 
discovered, or developed, the gift of inspiring 
eloquence that later gave to Miss Burke a 
great and worthy vogue and that won vast 
endowments for humanitarian services asso¬ 
ciated with the war. 

Enlisting in the cause of a Scottish Woman’s 
Nursing Association, Miss Burke visited the 
various cities of Scotland and England, speak¬ 
ing to great audiences everywhere and win¬ 
ning for the nursing service unprecedented 
gifts of money. But her most effective work 
was done in America. For it, with the co¬ 
operation and aid of the British Government, 
she made special preparation by visiting the 
war fronts from the North Sea to Serbia and 
Italy. The fullest opportunities of observa¬ 
tion were given her to the end that she might 
tell the story from first-hand knowledge. 

As the war progressed Miss Burke made re¬ 
peated journeys between America and the 
various scenes of conflict. In all she crossed 
the Atlantic Ocean eighteen times during the 
war, more than half of her crossings within 
the period of submarine warfare. She visited 


Introduction 


xiii 


in turn, and many times revisited, England, 
Belgium, France, Serbia, Italy, and elsewhere 
where war relief work was in progress. She 
was the only woman permitted to enter the 
Citadel of Verdun in the height of the great 
struggle and her hurried but charming little 
book, “The White Road to Verdun,” re¬ 
mains the most graphic and spirited story of 
that most desperate of the many desperate bat¬ 
tles of the war. 

Again and again, after immediate and per¬ 
sonal observation of war scenes, Miss Burke 
returned to America to make appeal for relief 
of suffering, mainly of women and children— 
most pitiable of the victims of the titanic fight. 
Her powers of oratory, reflecting personal 
knowledge and inspired by womanly sym¬ 
pathies, were truly amazing. Wherever she 
went—and she went everywhere—multi¬ 
tudes flocked to hear her. Not only did she 
stir all hearts but she unclasped all purses; 
and in the four years of her active work she 
won for the various humanitarian services 
of the war contributions aggregating more 
than six millions of dollars. 

Many speakers enlisted in the same or simi¬ 
lar causes, but none paralleled or approached 


XIV 


Introduction 


Miss Burke’s achievements. In the great 
work which she undertook she became a veri¬ 
table Jeanne d’Arc. In order to show their 
appreciation of her services, England, France, 
Serbia, Russia, and Greece conferred decora¬ 
tions upon her, and the 138th Field Artillery, 
A. E. F., made her Honorary Colonel of 
their regiment. 

The stories of which this little book is made 
up came to Miss Burke in the course of her 
several war-front visits in France. Inven¬ 
tion has contributed nothing to them—all 
are “really and truly.” Some of the children 
—Baby Pierre and Gustave, for example— 
Mrs. Peabody knew personally; others she 
knew because all France loved and honoured 
them. One of the stories, that of the Denisot 
children, was found in the diary of a German 
soldier. If in several of them there are inci¬ 
dents of a striking precocity it is to be credited 
to the fact that the boys and girls of France 
mature earlier than those of England or 
America and to the mental stimulation of 
times and events which made men and women 
of children before their time. 

This little book bears witness to the fact 
that under her new conditions of life, Mrs. 


Introduction 


xv 


Peabody has not lost the energies that gave a 
notable vitality and a distinguished service 
to the great cause for which the war was 
fought. 

Alfred Holman. 

San Francisco , 

July 6 , 1920. 























ANDRE LANGE AND HIS WHEEL¬ 
BARROW 







fittle Heroes of France 

ANDRE LANGE AND HIS WHEEL¬ 
BARROW 

C E all the other children of Alsace, 
Andre Lange, although born under 
German rule, was taught to love 
France and to think of it as his real country. 
When he was quite a baby, his grandmother 
would take him on her knee and tell him of the 
good old days when the tricolour flag of 
France flew over Alsace. 

“Little Andre,” she would say, “you must 
always remember that you are really a French¬ 
man and not a German. Some day the French 
will come back to Alsace and the country will 
be glad again. I fear I am too old to see 
that happen—I shall be sleeping in the church¬ 
yard—but you must promise me that you 
will come and kneel on my grave and say, 
‘Grandmother, the French are here.’ I 


3 


4 Little Heroes of France 

know that the good God in His mercy will let 
me hear your voice.” 

When the day's work was finished, the 
children would sit around the blazing log fire, 
eagerly listening to their grandfather, who 
never tired of recounting his adventures during 
the terrible war of 1870 when France was 
defeated and Alsace was forced under German 
dominance. He had been in Metz when 
General Bazain abandoned it to the enemy. 
He remembered that when Bazain was ques¬ 
tioned as to his reasons for delivering the 
fortress into the hands of the Germans, he 
could only give as an excuse, “I did not see 
that I could do any good by holding out; my 
Emperor was a prisoner.” And he had heard 
the famous reply of the French General who 
presided at the court martial: 

“It is true your Emperor was a prisoner, 
but behind you stood France.” 

He would remind his little grandsons that, 
although they were at that time governed by 
Germany, “Behind them stood France,” and 
that he hoped and prayed that France would 
regain Alsace and his grandchildren have the 
right to call themselves Frenchmen. 

Naturally, the home influence made Andre 


Andre Lange and His Wheelbarrow 5 

and his brothers rebellious against German 
rule. They were continually punished at 
school because, between the classes, they 
insisted on speaking French to each other. 
Time after time they returned crying when 
they had been severely beaten by the teacher. 
Even this, however, did not prevent them from 
thinking of the Germans as usurpers. 

It was a joyous day for them all when the 
father had saved enough money to buy a 
small farm. They left Alsace, and settled in 
the eastern part of France. Their one regret 
was that their dear old grandparents had 
died a few months previously, for they knew 
how glad they would have been to live in 
France once more. 

Although his brothers were studious, hard¬ 
working boys, Andre had always shown an 
adventurous spirit and a disposition to wander 
about the country. In spite of the punish¬ 
ment he received from his parents when he 
returned home after an absence of two or 
three days, nothing could prevent him from 
undertaking voyages of discovery whenever 
he was in the mood to set out on an expedi¬ 
tion. 

When the war started, in 1914, Andre 


6 Little Heroes of France 

followed the first regiment that passed through 
the village. He was then fourteen years old, 
considered himself quite a man, and saw no 
reason why he should not be allowed to go 
forward with the soldiers. To his annoyance, 
when the officers discovered him, one of the 
men was deputed to go back with him to be 
sure that he reached his parents safely. The 
soldier, tired by the long day's march, did not 
hesitate to tell Andre what he thought of 
him, so that it was a very crestfallen, disil¬ 
lusioned boy who crept back into the house. 

When another regiment arrived, Andre 
determined that he would try again to go 
with the army. This time, he took great 
precautions not to be found too soon. When 
all the family had gone to bed, he packed just 
a few clothes, a bottle of water, and a loaf of 
bread in his knapsack. When the regiment 
marched away at dawn, he followed behind 
the troops, managing to keep them in sight 
without being seen by them. It was only 
when they were three days' march from his 
own village that he joined the men, informed 
them that he had decided to be the mascot of 
the regiment, refusing, however, to give his 
name or to say where he lived. 


Andre Lange and His Wheelbarrow 7 

The soldiers urged the boy to go back to his 
own people, but when they found that day 
after day the child was still with them, they 
finally adopted him. Many of them had left 
sons of their own at home and were secretly 
glad to have him around. In any event, 
the lad made himself useful. When the 
troops halted he was always the first to fetch 
water for the men to bathe their feet, and he 
was at all times ready to run errands, helping 
as best he could. He was never so proud as 
when they were on the march and one of the 
men who was feeling weary would allow him 
to carry his rifle or some other part of his 
heavy equipment. 

The officers pretended not to know of his 
presence. They thought that as soon as they 
came near the battleline, within sound of the 
guns, Andre would leave them. Meantime, 
they ascertained that he did no harm and that 
he amused the regiment. At night, the 
soldiers stood him up on a table so that he 
might sing to them. He had a good voice, and 
it was not long before they discovered that he 
was also quite a skilful actor. 

While the troops were resting one day, 
Andre entertained them by mimicking one of 


8 Little Heroes of France 

their officers. The soldiers were laughing 
heartily at his antics, when, suddenly, he 
turned around to find that the officer he was 
impersonating was standing watching him. 
The boy was frightened, thinking the captain 
might be angry, but the soldier, smiling, 
placed his hand on the lad's shoulder, saying: 

“That was quite well done, Andre. I only 
hope that I may so conduct myself on the 
field of battle that you will want to imitate 
me there as well.” 

From that day Andre attached himself 
specially to the young officer, and was never 
tired of singing his praises to the soldiers. 

The men, to tease him, would sometimes 
criticise the captain. No matter how tall the 
soldier might be who dared to speak against 
him, Andre would roll up his sleeves and 
prepare to fight; but really, the troopers loved 
the captain almost as much as Andre himself, 
for he was not only an officer but a father to 
his men, anxious at all times for their welfare, 
never resting himself until he was sure that 
his soldiers had comfortable quarters and were 
well fed. 

During the first engagement the men had 
no time to think about Andre. But when 


Andre Lange and His Wheelbarrow 9 

there was a lull in the fighting, they were 
surprised to find the child going over the 
field of battle, carrying a large bucket into 
which he would dip a tin cup, giving water to 
wounded who were waiting to be carried to 
the dressing station. 

From that day on there was no danger of 
Andre's being sent away from the regiment. 
The captain persuaded him to write to his 
parents to relieve their anxiety over his long 
absence, and soon after a letter came from 
his father giving his full consent for the boy to 
remain, but asking him to write oftener to 
him and his mother. 

After the first day of battle Andre never 
asked to be allowed to carry a gun or to 
fight, for he saw that he could best serve his 
beloved regiment by looking after the wounded. 

The boy seemed to bear a charmed life. He 
never avoided danger, and appeared to be 
absolutely without fear, but he was never 
hurt. Every night the young captain would 
send for him to sleep beside him and tell him 
what he had done during the day. 

One morning, when the French were pre¬ 
paring for a surprise attack near Thiaucourt, 
Andre heard one of the officers express his 


io Little Heroes of France 

regret that they had so few men available, 
that in order to carry out the plan success¬ 
fully no one could be specially delegated to 
look after the wounded. Andre turned to 
him and said: 

“You go ahead and fight the Germans, I 
will undertake to bring the wounded back to 
a safe place.” 

The soldiers smiled grimly. 

“We know you are willing, but how do you 
propose to do it, Andre? It is impossible for a 
small boy to lift a helpless man and carry him.” 

“I may not be six feet high and I may not 
weigh two hundred pounds, but I have 
grown fairly strong since I have been with you 
you,” replied Andre. “Besides, I have a 
plan of my own—you will see.” 

He went to a village behind the lines where 
he remembered there was a deserted farm. He 
knew quite well what he wanted and soon he 
was back in the lines with a wheelbarrow he 
had found. 

“What on earth are you going to do with 
that?” inquired a sergeant. 

“Don't ask so many questions, chatty one. 
Wait and see,” answered Andre. “If I have 
not a large body, I have a big brain.” 


Andre Lange and His Wheelbarrow 11 

The soldier patted him on the head. “You 
have a good heart, Andre, and that is best of 
all.” 

The battle was one of the fiercest in which 
Andre had taken part. For a short time his 
spirit failed him. He lay down in the trench, 
fearing that at any moment he might be 
struck by a fragment of shell. Little by 
little his courage returned, and, looking over 
the top of the trench, he saw to his horror that 
the young captain whom he loved so dearly 
was lying wounded out in “No Man’s Land.” 
When he saw that his friend was injured, he 
hesitated no longer. He fetched his wheel¬ 
barrow, threw it over the top of the trench, 
climbed out into the field, and gained the 
officer’s side. The captain was unconscious 
but Andre managed, bit by bit, to move his 
body up into the wheelbarrow. Under a hail of 
bullets he trundled him safely to the first-line 
dressing station. All the way back he was 
sobbing, for he saw that the young officer was 
very badly wounded. When they reached the 
dressing station he longed to remain by his 
side to hear the doctor’s verdict and to know if 
his friend would live. He realized, however, 
that he was needed out on the battlefield. 


12 Little Heroes of France 

Twenty times Andre went out into “No 
Man’s Land.” Each time in his wheel¬ 
barrow he brought back a wounded man. He 
deliberately chose the worst cases, leaving the 
soldiers who were slightly injured to crawl 
back by themselves. Not only did he save 
the lives of the Frenchmen, but remembering 
that a wounded man is the child of all the 
world, he also brought in a German, who 
received the same care as the men of France. 

He worked busily until he was struck in the 
leg by a bullet. Then one of the soldiers 
lifted the limp little body in his arms and 
carried it back to the dressing station from 
which, to his great joy, he was sent to the same 
hospital and placed in the next bed to his friend, 
the captain. 

Before many weeks he was well enough to go 
back to his regiment. He remained with the 
men until the glorious day when the soldiers 
of France marched in triumph into Alsace. 

After the entry of the French into Metz, 
Marechal Petain asked to see the lad. He was 
found kneeling by his grandmother’s grave 
whispering that the French were once more in 
Alsace. 

And I think she heard him. 


MADELEINE AND ANDRE DANIAU—THE 
CHILD BAKERS OF EXOUDUN 



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MADELEINE AND ANDRE DANIAU—THE 
CHILD BAKERS OF EXOUDUN 


M onsieur daniau lived at Exou- 

dun (Department of Deux Sevres) 
with his daughter, Madeleine, aged 
fifteen, and his son Andre, who was sixteen 
months younger than his sister. Their mother 
had died when they were quite small, so that 
from their earliest days the children had 
spent all their time with their father. 

Monsieur Daniau was a hard-working man 
who-had inherited his bakery from his father. 
Since he was eager and willing to oblige his 
clients at all times, he was very popular and 
much respected. He served not only the 
inhabitants of his own village, but also made 
daily deliveries in the surrounding district. 

He was intensely proud of his little ones 
and was glad that they seemed to have his 
inherent love for work. At school, they 
applied themselves steadily; and when they 
were out of class, they often sat on the large 


16 Little Heroes of France 

sacks of flour in their father’s bakery, watch¬ 
ing him prepare the bread for the oven. Dur¬ 
ing the holidays they liked to be allowed to 
take an active interest in his work. Each 
morning they were up before daybreak to 
watch him bake, and by turns they drove the 
cart in which the nice, crisp loaves were de¬ 
livered. In this way they learned not only 
to be quite skilful bakers, but also to know 
where their father’s customers lived and the 
quickest way to reach them. 

“Some day,” he told them, “I shall take a 
long holiday, and leave you children to carry 
on the business.” 

The father put his arms around their 
shoulders, drawing them both to him. Only 
that day he had heard the neighbours talking 
of the possibility of war, and while he was 
really joking when he threatened to leave 
them, he had a secret fear that soon he might 
be forced to go away. 

Within three days the blow fell. When 
Andre was on his way to school he noticed a 
large crowd assembled around a poster that 
had just been pasted up on the walls of the 
Mayor’s house in the village square. It was the 
order issued by the French Government for the 


Madeleine and Andre Daniau 17 

immediate mobilization of all able-bodied men 
capable of joining the French Army. Some of 
the men were reading the poster with a look of 
grim determination on their faces; others were 
examining their pockets to find the small 
slip of paper, carried by every Frenchman, 
telling him just where he should report for 
military service and where his uniform and 
rifle would be waiting for him in the event of 
his country’s being in danger from the attack 
of an enemy. Andre could only get near 
enough to read the last words in large type, 
“long live France/’ but he gathered the 
meaning of the poster from one of the women, 
who, silently weeping, was standing behind the 
men. 

“The Germans are in Belgium and they 
have boasted that in three weeks they will be 
in Paris,” she told him. “All our men must 
go to war, my husband, Marie’s brother, 
everyone we love.” 

“Will father be obliged to go, too?” asked 
Andre. 

“I do not think he will be forced to join the 
army. He can remain, if he wishes, because 
he is needed to help feed those of us who must 
stay behind the lines,” answered the woman. 


18 Little Heroes of France 

Back to his home ran Andre. 

“Father! father!” he called. “The Ger¬ 
mans are attacking us and the men must all go 
into service at once. Madame Dubonnet 
says that you are not obliged to join the army 
because you are needed to help feed the people 
behind the lines. Oh, Fm so glad you can stay 
with us!” 

For one minute M. Daniau hesitated— 
then he turned to his son and asked: 

“What were the last words on the poster?” 

“Long Live France,” replied Andre. 

“If all of us who had the right, or thought 
we had the right, to save our skins by staying 
home, were just to remain in safety, how long 
do you think France would live, little son? 
You and your sister must be brave. France 
defends us and watches over us in times of 
peace; we must help her when she is in danger.” 

By this time, Madeleine had heard the 
news and had joined them. Her father took 
her in his arms, saying: 

“I would ask someone in the village to 
care for you, but I think you two children can 
look after each other. You must now be not 
only a sister but also a mother and a father to 
your young brother.” 


Madeleine and Andre Daniau 19 

Turning to Andre, he added: 

“I know you will obey your sister and 
defend her against all harm, until, please 
God, I come back to you.” 

“F 11 do my best,” replied Madeleine. “If 
I am ever in trouble, I will consult with some 
of the other women.” Andre said, “You 
need not worry about me a moment, father, 
and I’ll take care of Madeleine.” 

Both the children helped their father to 
gather the few things that he needed to take 
with him. With heavy hearts, scarcely realiz¬ 
ing what was taking place, they walked with 
him until he joined the other men who were 
leaving the village. They watched him 
marching with his friends down the long, 
straight road until he was out of sight. 
Then they returned to their home. For 
more than an hour they sat huddled together, 
stunned by their misery. Madeleine was the 
first to arouse herself to action. After all, 
Andre must be fed, and she would be a bad 
“little mother” if she did not look after him. 
When she had laid the table, she went out into 
the bakery to fetch a loaf for themselves and 
saw lying there all the bread that her father had 
baked that morning and had not had time to 


20 Little Heroes of France 

deliver. The thought flashed across her mind 
that Andre was not the only one who would 
be hungry and that they had no right to 
think only of themselves. 

“Andre!” she called. “Come here at once, 
I have an idea! Father would not want us to 
remain idle, just weeping for him. Only a 
few days ago he told us as a joke that we could 
carry on the business. Let's try to do it. It 
hurts me to think of the fire going out and 
all the good flour being wasted.” 

“I don't see why we shouldn't try,” replied 
Andre. “I know perfectly well how to knead 
the dough and prepare the furnace.” 

“And I will help you, brother. You know 
they tell us at school that a little good will 
goes a long way. We will do our best. If we 
fail no one will blame us and if we succeed it 
will help to make the days pass quickly until 
father returns. What is more, we can be really 
useful. All the women will be busy looking 
after the farms now that the men are gone and 
we can relieve them of extra work by baking 
bread.” 

Andre went at once to his teacher, explained 
to her what they proposed to do, and asked for 
permission to absent himself from school. 


Madeleine and Andre Daniau 21 

The teacher, realizing the shortage of labour 
which would be the inevitable result of the 
men being called for military service, and 
knowing that Daniau ran the only bakery 
serving Exoudun and the other villages, not 
only gave Andre the necessary permission, but 
also told him that if he and his sister could 
carry on the bakery, they would be rendering 
a true service to their country. 

‘‘I have only one suggestion to make, 
Andre,” she said. “Now that the women no 
longer have their men to earn money for them, 
there will be a great deal of poverty. If, 
during these hard times, you could supply the 
bread at cost price, not trying to make any 
profit beyond the amount required for your 
own and your sister’s maintenance, you would 
be wonderful patriots.” 

Andre repeated to Madeleine what the 
teacher had suggested and she enthusiastically 
agreed with the idea. She knew well that her 
father was one of the kindest hearted men and 
that if he were there he would have done all in 
his power to relieve any suffering he might see 
around him. So, without any idea of personal 
gain, in a perfect spirit of patriotic service, 
they started on their business venture. 


22 Little Heroes of France 

Andre went out into the yard, harnessed 
the horse to the wagon and, assisted by 
Madeleine, loaded the cart with the bread that 
his father had baked before leaving. As 
Madeleine delivered the loaves to their cus¬ 
tomers, she told them all what they planned 
to do. A great many of the women promised 
to come for the bread themselves so as to lighten 
their task, while in each of the surrounding 
villages Madeleine arranged to leave a certain 
number of loaves in one house, to be called for 
by those who needed them. 

“You are fine children," the villagers said. 
“We pray that the good God will help you in 
order that you may be able to ‘carry on’ 
successfully/' 

“Don't praise us yet," answered Madeleine. 
“We may fail. It is easy to bring you the 
loaves father made; it remains to be seen if we 
can make them ourselves." 

When she returned home she found Andre 
already at work on the dough for the next 
baking. He was anxious to write at once to 
their father to tell him what they were doing, 
but Madeleine persuaded him to wait until 
they had worked for at least a week and were 
sure they could bake the bread satisfactorily. 


Madeleine and Andre Daniau 23 

They both went early to bed, and got up at 
four in the morning to commence their first 
real attempt to bake. Madeleine put the 
dough into the tins while Andre prepared the 
furnace. 

“Is the oven hot?” 

“Yes, sister.” 

“Very well, in goes the bread.” 

Hand in hand they sat, anxiously waiting 
until it should be baked. Would it be all 
right, would it be half-baked, would it be 
burned, would it be successful? 

When the time came, they opened the oven 
door and to their great delight, when they 
drew out the first tray of loaves, found that 
they had not failed. They took one loaf of 
golden-brown bread after another out of the 
oven, and placed them in long lines to cool. 

“It is not as good as father makes it,” said 
Madeleine, as she broke a piece off and 
tasted it, “ but I think it does very well for 
a first trial, Andre.” 

All the villagers were loud in their praises, 
and vowed that they had never eaten such 
good bread. They were delighted with the 
children’s courageous endeavour to do their 
bit. Some of them predicted that they would 


24 Little Heroes of France 

tire of their self-imposed task; others thought 
they would not be strong enough to keep up 
the heavy work for any length of time. Many 
of the women offered to assist, but the children 
refused all help. During the dark days of the 
German advance in 1914, the two young 
Daniaus fed, not only their own customers, 
but also many hundreds of refugees who 
passed through the village flying before the 
invaders. Day after day there were long 
lines of people waiting outside the bakery for 
the bread to be taken from the oven. The 
local authorities supplied the children with 
extra flour, and until the victory of the Marne, 
when the Germans were forced to retreat, the 
children worked practically night and day. 

Those who had said that the youngsters 
would be obliged to give up were forced to 
admit that they seemed to have almost more 
than human strength. The weeks passed 
into months and soon it was more than a year 
since Madeleine and Andre had started to run 
the business. Up every morning at four 
o'clock, to bed every afternoon at five, their 
life was indeed a hard one. 

At the end of the year their father came 
home on leave. During the days he was with 


Madeleine and Andre Daniau 25 

them he did the baking himself, but when the 
time came for him to return to the trenches he 
left them with his mind free of all anxiety on 
their account. He realized that they were 
true heroes. He knew only too well that 
in moments of excitement men and women 
are capable of great acts of self-denial and 
sacrifice, but he saw that his children were 
giving an example of the finest courage in the 
world—the carrying on continuously of a 
dull, everyday task. They continued to work 
until after the signing of the armistice, when 
their father was released from his military 
duties and could take over the bakery himself. 

The French Government, desiring to reward 
the initiative, courage, and devotion to duty 
which the children had shown, offered them 
both free education in any university they 
might choose, so that they could have an 
opportunity to make up the time they had 
lost while serving their neighbours and their 
country. 




DENISE CARTIER 




“The child was suffering agony . . . ‘Please ask 

someone to break the news to mother * ” 










DENISE CARTIER 


D ENISE felt that it was good to be alive, 
| to run down the long alleys of the 
Bois de Boulogne chasing her hoop, 
to watch the ducks on the lake, to collect the 
pretty coloured leaves just commencing to 
fall from the trees, and, above all, to run home 
to her mother who was waiting to welcome 
her. It was true that her mother could not 
give her as many presents as some of her little 
friends received, but Denise knew there was 
nothing that her mother would not try to 
do for her and that she loved her tenderly. 
Often the other children would try to persuade 
her to stay to play a little longer with them in 
the park but she always refused and went 
home when she was expected, for she knew 
that that was the best way to show her mother 
how much she really cared for her. 

It was not always easy to part from her 
companions. The changed conditions under 
which they were living since the German 


29 


30 Little Heroes of France 

invasion of France had taught them so many 
new games. All their old sports seemed dull 
and uninteresting. When they were alone 
they still rolled their hoops and played with 
their tops and balls, but as soon as a group 
could get together they adopted more war¬ 
like pastimes. All the boys thought they 
were budding soldiers, and strange but true, 
for in the usual way French children do not 
mingle much, they allowed the girls to play 
with them. After all, even an army must 
have hospitals and Red Cross nurses. Denise 
and her chums had all persuaded their mothers 
to give them white aprons and had made 
white caps for themselves with the Red Cross 
embroidered on the front. Day after day the 
boys fought mock battles and took turns to 
rank as wounded, being looked after, bandaged 
with any old pieces of rag they could find, and 
petted by the little maidens. 

In fact, the girls had no use for the boys 
who were not trying to be warriors. Young 
Emile Machet thought their games far too 
rough. The first time he had joined with the 
other boys in a sham fight he had received a 
hard crack on the head from a wooden sword 
and this entirely killed his military ardour. 


Denise Cartier 


3 1 

He therefore decided to avoid taking any 
part in their games in the future. One day he 
tried to inveigle Denise into leaving the 
others to play with him. 

The young lady looked him up and down 
rather scornfully and said, “I am sorry, but 
I am on duty with the ambulance as a nurse.” 

“If your cousin Albert asked you to go with 
him,” replied Emile, “Fll bet you’d do it.” 

“Maybe so, but you must remember Albert 
is a Boy Scout,” answered Denise with her nose 
in the air as she turned and walked away from 
Emile. 

The boy decided after this that it would 
be better to take any knocks that might be 
coming to him and play with the others like a 
man, rather than be despised. 

After school that day he found Albert and 
asked, “Would they allow me to be a Boy 
Scout?” 

“Certainly. Why not?” replied Albert. 
“Only you must be prepared to work hard.” 

“All right, I’m ready,” answered Emile. 

Albert introduced him to the leader of his 
own patrol and within a few weeks Emile was 
a full-fledged Scout, doing excellent work as a 
cyclist messenger attached to one of the 


32 Little Heroes of France 

largest Paris hospitals. He often went in his 
uniform to see little Denise and they became 
the best of friends. 

In the early days of September, 1914, Denise 
watched the preparations being made to 
defend Paris against a long siege, for the 
enemy was advancing rapidly and the city 
might be surrounded at any time. Large 
sections of the Bois de Boulogne were cut off 
from the public, while hundreds and hundreds 
of oxen and sheep were driven into the en¬ 
closures so that there would be a reserve of 
fresh meat for the inhabitants if the enemy 
should manage to close in on the city and cut 
off supplies from the outside world. Not only 
meat, but also huge quantities of canned milk 
and grain were stored away. The French 
authorities did not intend to surrender Paris 
but wanted to be able to stand a long siege if 
it became necessary. 

The animals soon became quite tame and 
allowed the children to pass among them 
while they continued quietly grazing. Denise 
loved above all to play with the sheep, because 
in her heart of hearts she was a little afraid of 
the cows. 

Notwithstanding the fact that all possible 


Denise Cartier 


33 

precautions were taken to save them from 
starvation, many of the families, especially 
those with numbers of young children, thought 
it more prudent to go south. The streets 
were crowded with a never-ending stream of 
cars laden with people and baggage deserting 
the city to seek safety far from the sound of 
the guns, while whole families literally camped 
out at the railroad terminals waiting, some¬ 
times two or three days, before they could get 
space on the outgoing trains. They travelled 
crammed in the corridors, hanging on to 
the steps of the carriages, some of them even 
climbing on to the roofs of the compartments, 
lying down flat as they passed through the 
tunnels. 

Denise was quite old enough to appreciate 
the danger that threatened Paris when the 
advance of the Germans was unchecked. She 
knew that the enemy was approaching daily 
nearer and nearer to the city, that it was 
feared that the French Army could not hold 
them back, and that the people were flying be¬ 
cause they dreaded to fall into the hands of the 
invaders. 

“Shall we go, too?” she asked her mother. 

“I do not think so, child. It costs a great 


34 Little Heroes of France 

deal of money to leave Paris, and besides I 
do not intend to allow any German to turn me 
out of my little home.” 

“I think you are quite right, mother, ,, 
answered Denise. “I’m not at all afraid. I 
am sure the soldiers will not hurt us even if 
they do capture Paris.” 

Denise was quite proud of her mother and 
was glad to be able to say to the other chil¬ 
dren, “My mother is afraid of nothing. We are 
going to stay here and see what happens. 
Mother says she believes the French Army will 
never let the Germans reach us.” 

The Parisians who remained behind became 
accustomed to the daily visits of the enemy 
air-planes which hovered above them bombing 
the city. The great sirens blew to warn the 
inhabitants whenever a Taube was sighted and 
they were ordered to take cover at once, and 
remain in the cellars of their houses. Un¬ 
fortunately, they did not always obey the 
authorities. Nothing in the world could pre¬ 
vent them from running out into the streets 
to watch the planes overhead and to see their 
own aviators go up to give battle to the 
enemy. Even at night they could see the 
small red tail-lights passing to and fro in the 


Denise Cartier 


35 

sky, and knew that the French planes were 
watching like guardian angels. 

Madame Cartier had told Denise always to 
go to a place of safety if she happened to be 
away from home when the warning was 
sounded, but as she did not obey the rule any 
too well herself, it was not surprising that 
Denise should go out with the other children 
to watch the raiders passing overhead. 

The German idea was that they could scare 
the French into submission and that if they 
could get the civilians properly frightened 
behind the lines they would bring pressure to 
bear on the authorities to end the war. It 
would have suited the Germans very well to 
have the war stop while they were still riding 
on the crest of a wave of victory. They 
failed absolutely. The air raids only served 
to increase the patriotism of the French people 
and goaded them on to new sacrifices in order 
to stand behind their army. 

Denise came home one day and told her 
mother that she had been standing with a 
group of little friends watching a German 
airman, while he circled round and round 
without doing anything. At last one of the 
small boys, his nose in the air, his hands in his 


36 Little Heroes of France 

pockets, launched the remark, “For goodness 
sake, hurry up, old man. If you are going to 
drop a bomb, drop it. I want to go home and 
have my dinner.” 

Madame Cartier wanted to laugh, but she 
told Denise that she should have come straight 
to their cellar when there was so much danger 
for her out in the streets. She would probably 
have punished her and sent her to bed, but 
just at that moment a neighbour rushed in, 
waving a small flag and shouting, “Good 
news! Thank God, we are saved! Joffre 
has defeated the Germans, and their army is in 
full retreat.” 

The great battle of the Marne had been 
fought and won, the city of Paris saved! It 
was no wonder that all the Parisians gave 
themselves up to rejoicing and that in the 
general happiness Madame Cartier quite 
forgot to be cross with Denise. 

The Germans, angered by their defeat, 
continued to try to destroy Paris. On the 
27th of September, 1914, Denise was return¬ 
ing from school when one of the German air^ 
planes started to bomb the city. The airman 
evidently intended to hit one of the govern¬ 
ment buildings, but the bomb dropped at the 


Denise Cartier 37 

corner of the Avenue du Trocadero and the 
Rue Freycinet. A passing taxi was blown to 
bits, and a large fragment of the bomb 
struck little Denise. From everywhere people 
rushed to her help, regardless of their own 
peril. The child was suffering agony, but 
looking up into the face of a woman who was 
holding her in her arms, she said, “My leg is 
injured and I am in great pain. Please ask 
someone to break the news to mother, but do 
not let them tell her how seriously I am hurt.” 
Then she became unconscious. 

She was taken at once to the Beaujon 
Hospital, where the doctors, finding that she 
was badly hurt, were obliged to amputate her 
leg to save her life. 

Her youth and strength saved her. Al¬ 
though the hospital staff had learned that the 
child was brave they shrank from telling her 
that she had lost her leg, and it was her 
mother who was deputed to acquaint her with 
the sad fact. 

“You know how much I love you, Denise— 
you are the dearest girl in the world to me,” 
she began. “Now I shall care for you even 
more because you will be obliged to rely more 
on me. Be brave, little one. The doctors 


3 8 Little Heroes of France 

have asked me to tell to you that they were 
obliged to cut off your leg—otherwise you 
might have died.” 

“I shall not be able to run any more, or 
play with the other children. Oh! Mother, 
mother!” sobbed the child. 

Her mother bent her head and kissed her. 
There was nothing she could say. Denise 
cried for a few minutes, but it was not long 
before she turned a smiling face to her mother, 
saying: 

“There is no reason for me to show the 
white feather. Do you remember the story 
Cousin Henry told us of the soldier who replied 
when the doctor told him he must lose his 
arm: T went into war prepared to give my 
life for France and she is only taking one of 
my arms.’ Well, mother, I can feel now that 
I, too, am a soldier and I can say that I have 
given my leg to France. And you will love me 
a little more because there is just a little less 
of me to love.” 

During the period of her convalescence 
Denise spent her time knitting socks for the 
soldiers and writing to them. As soon as she 
was well enough, all her young companions 
were allowed to visit her. Emile Machet 


Denise Cartier 


39 

came two or three times a week, whenever he 
was free. Sitting by her bedside, he would 
talk of the work he was doing. 

“You made me feel that boys ought to try to 
do something/' he said. “I persuaded twenty 
other lads to join me after your cousin Albert 
had arranged for me to be a Boy Scout, so, 
really, you have a troop of twenty Scouts all 
your own. Nearly all the boys in my troop have 
been, and still are, in the forts around the 
capital where they are employed as orderlies of 
the officers and share the soldiers' mess. They 
get plenty to eat, and it is a great relief to our 
mothers because it is hard to feed us on the 
ten cents a day allowance they get from the 
government. You know how much we like to 

. > y 

eat. 

“I can understand why your mothers are 
glad to be rid of you at mealtimes," laughed 
Denise. “You get your clothes, too, don't 

5 J) 

your 

“Yes. If we give satisfaction, at the end of 
a month the regimental tailor is allowed to 
make clothes for us, and that also helps make 
ends meet. Of course, I do not mind admitting 
that most of us think it dull to be on duty here 
instead of up nearer to the front. 


40 Little Heroes of France 

“One of my friends, who lives in a village 
not far from the Belgian border, came down to 
visit us the other day with his grandfather. 
He told me that one of the favourite pursuits of 
the boys around where he lived was ‘ to go to 
see the English/ meaning the British troops 
who were near by. The British soldiers were 
always glad to see them and would call out to 
them, ‘Hallo, Baden Powell Scouts!' They 
would try in their bad French to make the 
boys understand that they had sons of their 
own who were Boy Scouts and were serving 
England by guarding her coasts, patrolling the 
railway lines, and helping with the harvest.” 

“The Scouts are helping here with the har¬ 
vest, are they not?” asked Denise. 

“Why, yes. When you are strong enough 
to go to the country* you will see them 
everywhere aiding the women on farms and 
gathering the crops. It is hard work, but not 
dangerous. My friend, Andre Germis, nearly 
lost his life up there on the Belgian front. He 
went with a companion on his bicycle to see 
the English. They met a patrol of German 
cavalry whom they at first mistook for 
British because their helmets were covered 
with khaki. The Germans arrested them and 


Denise Cartier 


4i 

questioned them but the boys pretended to be 
stupid so that they received no information 
from them. The soldiers confiscated their 
bicycles, but allowed them to wander about. 
The boys walked carelessly around a corner and 
then took to their heels until they reached the 
French outposts. There they reported to the 
captain in charge, who immediately sent 
them in a motor to Headquarters where they 
had the proud distinction of being the first to 
give information of the advance of the enemy.” 

“They must have been awfully glad,” said 
Denise. 

“I envy them the excitement of such an 
adventure,” replied Emile. “Life here seems 
very dull by comparison.” 

“You must not say that, nor even think it,” 
answered Denise. “ Someone must stay behind 
the lines, and I think, Emile, that you and the 
other boys of your troop are splendid. Please 
bring them all to see me, so that I can tell 
them how fine I think they are.” 

Emile left her much encouraged and did not 
fail to repeat what she had said to his com¬ 
panions. 

Denise's courage and cheerful endurance 
won for her the sympathy of all Paris. A 


42 Little Heroes of France 

public subscription was opened to raise funds 
for her education and to help her in her future 
life. When an official of the French Govern¬ 
ment came to present the money to her in the 
hospital he said. 

“ Denise, we all look on you as a splendid 
example of a brave little girl. The present 
we are making you is quite out of proportion 
to the affection we all feel for you. We are 
very proud of you.” 

Denise answered simply: “Why, any other 
French child would have been just as brave.” 

Her work for the soldiers kept her very 
busy. She was never seen to cry when her 
mother was near her, but sometimes in the 
night, when the nurse was making her rounds, 
she found Denise’s pillow wet with tears, but 
the little girl boasted, “Mother never sees me 
weep. You can understand I must be brave 
so as to cheer her up. It is really rather 
funny. In the old days I went to her always 
with my tales of woe, now it is my turn to be 
‘grown up’ and comfort her.” 

When Denise was well again, her mother 
arranged to take her to the country. She 
feared the first days they would spend together 
because she knew the child would rebel 


Denise Cartier 


43 

against her changed condition. Denise con¬ 
tinued, however, to work, and showed no 
signs of grieving. As her mother watched her 
adding stitch after stitch to a nice warm 
scarf she was making for one of the men, she 
said to her, “It is a great consolation to me 
that you do not complain; it would break my 
heart, dearest little one, if I saw you too un¬ 
happy.” 

“It is true I have to sit still,” answered 
Denise, “but really I think you ought to be 
glad. You used to say I was more like a boy 
than a girl and you were always worried for 
fear I would topple down out of a tree and 
break my neck. Now you know I can’t get 
into mischief, so smile and be cheerful, mother. 
I’m a good deal more likely to grow up to be a 
useful woman.” 





ROBERT FELIX—THE SCHOOLBOY 
OF RHEIMS 
















ROBERT FELIX—THE SCHOOLBOY 


OF RHEIMS 


~ THOUGH in 1915 the city of Rheims 



was under constant bombardment 


jL m. from the German guns, the civilians, 
with characteristic French courage, refused to 
leave their homes. Madame Felix lived in the 
southern part of the city with her son, Robert. 
In spite of the danger from the falling shells, 
she had the greatest difficulty in keeping him 
in the house. Like all normal boys, he loved 
to run and to play with his comrades. When 
his mother told him that he was likely to be 
wounded, or even killed, if he insisted in re¬ 
maining out in the streets, he would reply: 

“What am I to do? I have read all the 
books in our house, most of my toys are 
broken, and we have no money to buy new 
ones now, even if they could be found in the 
shops. Really, mother, you must admit it is 
not much fun to be shut up all day.” 

“I know it is hard for you to obey me, 
son,” answered his mother, “but you must 


47 


48 Little Heroes of France 

remember that while your father is at the 
war I look to you to protect me. What 
would I do if my boy were killed ?” 

“I am very glad you rely on me, mother,” 
said Robert. “I will try to stay under cover 
as much as possible.” 

His mother patted him on the cheek, 
smiling at him tenderly. She knew he would 
endeavour to keep his promise yet no one 
realized better than she that time hung 
heavily on his hands, and that it is not easy to 
keep an active boy in one place without some 
kind of definite occupation. 

Some days later, while they were preparing 
their evening meal down in the cellar, there 
was a loud knocking at the door. 

“I will go up and find out who is there,” 
said Robert. 

“Thank you, son,” replied his mother, “but 
do not, on any account, go out into the street. 
I can still hear the shells falling on the other 
side of the town and they may fire on us here 
at any minute.” 

When Robert opened the door, he found a 
young lady k waiting whom he recognized at 
once as one of the teachers in the school he 
attended before the war. 


Robert Felix 


49 


“May I see your mother?” she asked. 

“Of course. Please come down into the 
cellar. You know, we live down there. I 
just hate it,” he added. 

Madame Felix looked scared; she was 
always afraid news might come that her hus¬ 
band was either wounded or dead. She came 
forward, however, to welcome the young 
woman, while Robert fetched her a chair. 

“Please do not be frightened, Madame,” 
said the newcomer. “I am not here to bring 
you bad news of any kind, but to ask your 
cooperation in an idea we wish to put into 
effect. I was a teacher in one of the schools 
before they were destroyed by the shells or 
closed on account of the danger to the children. 
Some of the other teachers and I, feeling that 
the parents must have great trouble in keeping 
the children indoors without anything to do, 
have decided to open a school, under the 
direction of M. Thenault, in the underground 
cellars of one of the large champagne factories. 
You know that most of the factories have 
three or four stories of subterranean cellars. 
The roofs of these cellars are made of rein¬ 
forced cement. We think, therefore, if we 
hold our classes three stories below ground, 


50 Little Heroes of France 

with the two other cellars above to protect us, 
the children will be in comparative safety.” 

“I know those cellars quite well,” replied 
Madame Felix. “My husband was employed 
in a champagne factory before he went to war, 
so that I have often been with him to see them. 
If you can arrange the school there, we mothers 
will never know how to thank you enough. It 
will keep the children amused, prevent them 
from falling behind in their studies, and, at 
the same time, keep them out of danger.” 

Robert had been sitting on a barrel swinging 
his legs, listening intently to the conversation. 

“Mother, mother, you will let me go, won’t 
you?” he cried. 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Madame Felix. 
Turning to the young woman she added, 
“Please let me know when you are ready. 
I shall be very glad for Robert to be one of the 
first pupils in your underground school.” 

“Certainly. I will inform you at once when 
the school is opened. There is only one 
formality to be carried out. Naturally, we 
shall do our best to protect the children, but, 
in these days, no one can foresee what may 
happen or what new and terrible weapon the 
enemy may employ against us. If you will 


Robert Felix 51 

sign this paper saying that you hold us free of 
all responsibility, I will enter your son’s name 
on the school list at once.” 

“Of course I will sign it,” responded Ma¬ 
dame Felix. “I quite understand that there 
is always a risk. At the same time, I would 
like to tell you, Mademoiselle, that I think you 
and your comrades are brave women to stay 
here to help the mothers look after their chil¬ 
dren, and to see that the little ones do not 
remain without a chance of education.” 

“Will it be a real school?” asked Robert. 
“With benches and a blackboard and lots of 
pens and pencils.” 

“Yes, I promise you it will be interesting/’ 
said the teacher. “We will even have the 
maps on the walls, so that you will have no 
excuse not to study hard. What is more, 
each school will have a name. The first one, 
which you will attend, will be known as the 
‘Joffre School'.” 

“ Oh! That’s fine! ” shouted Robert, clapping 
his hands. “We shall all feel that we are little 
soldiers under the command of a great general. 
Do you know, Mademoiselle, secretly, I will call 
you Joffre and try to obey you as I would him.” 

He threw his arms around his mother’s 


5 2 Little Heroes of France 

neck, kissing her and thanking her for allowing 
him to be a pupil. It is not often that young 
people are so glad to go to school, but the 
children of Rheims welcomed the idea of 
working rather than sitting around idle in the 
dark, damp cellars of their homes. 

The day the school was to open Robert’s 
mother had no trouble in getting him to hop 
out of his bed. He was one of the earliest to 
arrive and that first day sixty-eight children 
answered to the roll call. Their mothers 
brought them and left them in charge of the 
teachers, at the same time arranging to fetch 
them when they were dismissed from class. 

No promises had been broken. It was a 
real school. The benches were in their places, 
while on the blackboards were written the 
words of the “Marseillaise” so that the children 
could commence their strange new life by 
singing their national anthem. 

The room was only sixty yards long by 
twenty yards wide. There were holes through 
which air penetrated from above, but these 
apertures were too small to admit any light. 
Twenty oil lamps, therefore, were hung from 
the ceiling to provide light so that the little 
ones would not strain their eyes. 


Robert Felix 


53 

Each child was put through a brief examina¬ 
tion to determine how much he or she knew. 
They were divided into classes and then 
handed books from the large piles waiting to 
be distributed. Robert was delighted be¬ 
cause he was put in the second class. 

The children soon spread the news that the 
school was great fun. Next day there were 106 
present, and it was evident that the venture 
was an immediate success. The number of stu¬ 
dents increased so rapidly that the Ecole Jojfre 
could not accommodate them, and the authori¬ 
ties decided to open several similar schools. 

The children were most regular in their 
attendance. Often they were kept awake all 
night by the noise of the bombardment, and, 
next day, one or two of them would be missing, 
and, when they came back to school, it was 
with the sad news that their mother, sister, or 
someone else dear to them had been killed. 
The teachers comforted them as best they 
could, trying to interest them in their work so 
that they might forget their sorrow. It was 
not surprising, however, that when a heavy 
bombardment started they would stop study¬ 
ing. One day Robert broke into tears. His 
teacher asked him if he were frightened. 


54 Little Heroes of France 

“1 am not afraid for myself,” he answered. 
“I am safe here. I am crying because I’m 
afraid my mother is in danger.” 

The other children, terrified for their loved 
ones, commenced to cry, too. The teacher 
was gentle with them and endeavoured to 
stop their worrying. It was only next morn¬ 
ing that she talked to them of their duty to 
their country. 

“Children,” she said, “many of you cried 
yesterday because you were afraid your 
parents might be killed. Now I want you to 
understand that children who cry because 
they are nervous for the safety of their dear 
ones are not bad children; they are good 
children , but they have not yet learned to be 
good Frenchmen . Please let me see you show 
more courage in the future so that you may 
feel you are worthy of the men who are 
fighting and dying for you on the front. We 
will now all stand and sing the c Marseillaise*.” 
The children received the rebuke in silence, 
but it is placed on record in the history of the 
school that not one of them was ever seen to 
cry again. 

The little ones ran many risks in their 
.faithful attendance at school. Once, when 


Robert Felix 55 

Robert was entering the door to descend 
below ground, a great shell burst near by. 
The shock of the explosion threw him off his 
feet, and he rolled down the stairs, bruising 
himself badly. The teacher bathed his head, 
and told him that, if he wished, he might 
absent himself from class for a few days with¬ 
out losing any marks for attendance. How¬ 
ever, next day he was back in his place. He 
was very proud when the teacher said, “We 
have heard to-day that Robert's father has 
been mentioned in dispatches for capturing a 
machine-gun nest and has been given the war 
cross, so that we may well say that there are 
two heroes in the Felix family." 

In July, 1915, the Mayor of Rheims decided 
that, in spite of the constant enemy attacks, 
he would hold a prize day to reward the 
children who had attended school regularly 
under such trying conditions. 

M. Thenault, who was in charge of all the 
underground schools, received the Mayor and 
other city and government officials, while a 
number of soldiers, who were off duty, came 
to the fete. 

After a brief speech by the splendid old 
Mayor of Rheims, Dr. Langlet, the distribu- 


56 Little Heroes of France 

tion of prizes and certificates began. To his 
great joy, Robert heard his name called. He 
passed before the Mayor, who shook hands 
with him, and at the same time presented him 
with his prize. It was a piece of parchment 
and read as follows: 

Quand Meme. 

“In spite of all” 

University of France 

TOWN OF RHEIMS. I9I5. PUBLIC SCHOOLS 
PRIZE DAY 

Presided over by M. Sarraut, Minister of Education, 
assisted by M. Lapie, Director of Elementary 
Education, and M. le Dr. Langlet, Mayor of 
Rheims. 

ECOLE JOFFRE 

The pupil, Robert Felix, for his hard work and regular 
attendance in class in spite of great personal 
danger has been given this special reward. 

Inspector of Elementary Education 

(sd) Forsant. 

In a champagne cellar the332nd day of bombardment. 
31st. July 1913. 


Robert Felix 


57 

The children found the holidays all too 
long, and were delighted when the time came 
for them to return to school. In November, 
they lost their beloved superintendent, M. 
Thenault, but he was replaced by a Madame 
Fiquemont to whom the children quickly 
transferred their affection and respect. 

The superb courage of the boys and girls of 
Rheims soon became known all over France. 
In one of the towns in the south the children 
voted that they would go without Christmas 
presents so that their gifts might be sent to 
the children of Rheims. The great parcels 
came early in December, but the pleasure in 
store for them was kept secret. The week 
before Christmas the children arrived one 
afternoon to find that all the benches had 
been pushed against the walls, while in the 
centre of the room stood a large Christmas 
tree loaded with toys. Every child received 
a present, Master Robert arriving home with 
a large box of toy soldiers. “Decidedly,” he 
told his mother, “I have never been, and 
never shall go to as nice a school as the Ecole 
Joffre.” 

The bombardment was not so heavy in the 
winter as it had been during the rest of the 


58 Little Heroes of France 

year. The authorities, however, were given 
warning of a new danger. When the children 
got to school one morning they found a 
package waiting for each of them on their 
desks. Robert was the first to open his and 
pull out a gas mask. All the children were 
instructed how to put them on and were 
placed on their honour not to go out on the 
streets without them. Some of them were a 
little afraid of the strange objects and were 
inclined to rebel. But Robert said, “We are 
just like real soldiers now that we have gas 
masks.” 

From that time on the children never came 
to school without their masks on. It was 
really a most necessary precaution. Other¬ 
wise, had a gas shell burst near them, they 
might have been asphyxiated. 

Even this new danger did not prevent them 
from going to their classes. Until the Ger¬ 
mans had been pushed back and Rheims was 
safe from bombardment, they continued to 
work underground. In many houses, at the 
present time, one of the proudest possessions 
of the family is the certificate earned by the 
child for regular attendance, and hanging 
beside it his little gas mask. 


Robert Felix 


59 

When Robert’s father returned he told him 
that he thought more of his son’s certificate 
than he did of his own medal, and that, when 
he realized the courage of the children, it made 
him feel that the French soldiers had fought 
that a new and even more splendid generation 
of Frenchmen might rule over France. 








# 




4 


















* 





















LOUISE HAUMONT 








.VVr. 




^-.vV^v.-.v::.;.;:::; 


» 


Across the road she darted , reached the wood without being seen 













































LOUISE HAUMONT 


T HE great French Fort de Troyon is 
situated on a wooded hill not far from 
St. Mihiel. 


It was a strategical point in the French 
line of defence and, consequently, a large 
number of France's finest soldiers were 
stationed there. 

In the early days of the war the men of the 
garrison came down every day to the near-by 
village to purchase fresh vegetables and fruit. 
They were always welcomed enthusiastically 
by the villagers who could not do too much 
for the brave soldiers who were defending 
France. 

Not only did the villagers supply them 
with fruit and vegetables, but nearly every 
day one or another of the women baked a good 
supply of cakes and sent them back to the 
fort as a present to the men. 

Above all, the soldiers were loved by the 
children. Perhaps they realized that those 
63 


64 Little Heroes of France 

strong men, far away from their own dear 
babies, needed much sympathy and affection. 
Day after day the little ones went out to 
meet the troopers as they came down the 
straight white road leading to the village, 
and, hanging to their coat tails, accompanied 
them back to the entrance to the fortress. 

The soldiers encouraged the children to play 
with them. They always had new and won¬ 
derful tales of adventure to tell, and they 
brought their small friends all kinds of queer 
wooden and bone toys which they had carved 
during the hours they were off duty. There 
was not a child in the village who had not a 
cannon, or a wagon, or a doll that the men 
had made. 

Louise Haumont was a particular favourite. 
The good-natured troopers teased her because 
at twelve years of age she was still quite 
small; but they were very fond of the blue¬ 
eyed, golden-haired little maid who bestowed 
her favours impartially. Each morning she 
went out early into the fields and picked a 
bouquet of the lovely wild flowers to give to 
one of the men, a different one each time, so 
that not one of her friends could feel slighted 
or jealous. The lucky man would place the 


Louise Haumont 65 

bouquet in his cap and when he got back, 
present it to the commander, so that little 
Louise was well known in the Fort de Troyon. 

The enemy advanced rapidly, and were so 
skillful in cutting the lines of communication 
of the French Army that they were able to 
approach the Fort de Troyon before the 
commander could receive any warning of the 
nearness of the invaders. 

One night, late, the villagers were surprised 
by the arrival of a troop of Uhlans. The 
Germans knew through their spies that the 
French troops came to the village every day. 
If they could take them prisoners it would 
reduce the strength of the garrison of the 
fort to such an extent that by launching a 
blow immediately they might hope to capture 
it. 

They took all possible precautions to hide 
the fact that they were in possession of the 
village. The German commander was leading 
only a raiding party and there were no 
troops behind to reinforce him if he were 
attacked. Sentries, disguised as peasants, 
were placed at all points, and the men were 
concealed in the houses, while they placed 
their machine guns in such positions that, 


66 Little Heroes of France 

once the French troops were in the village, 
they could open fire on them. 

The officer in command of the Germans 
sent for the mayor of the village, and told him 
to inform the inhabitants that they were for¬ 
bidden to leave their houses, and that any one 
who tried to go out would be shot at sight, 
without trial o*f any kind. 

Much against his will, the mayor was 
forced to issue the order. It grieved the 
people, but they saw no way of rebelling 
against it. They knew only too well that the 
next morning the Frenchmen would return as 
usual and, falling into the ambush, would be 
killed or captured. 

In all the households there was but one 
thought: How could they let the garrison 
know? It seemed almost impossible to get 
word to them because every house in the 
village and every road was guarded. They 
knew that, in spite of the severe penalty, 
the German commander was afraid that 
someone might be willing to take the risk 
in order to warn the commander of the fort. 
If there had seemed any possibility of success 
many of them would have made the attempt, 
but they realized that the German commander 


Louise Haumont 67 

would not hesitate to carry out his threat and 
that any one who dared to go out into the 
street would certainly be killed. 

Louise Haumont heard her parents express¬ 
ing their fear for the safety of the French 
soldiers and determined that she would see 
whether she could do anything to save them. 
The child understood the danger she would 
run if she tried such a mission, and did not 
tell any one of her plan. Willing to give her 
own life for her friends, she knew her mother 
and father would never allow her to set out on 
such a hazardous expedition. 

The German commander had instructed the 
soldier in charge of each house to count the 
people in the family. It was by a piece of 
good luck that Louise was absent in a neigh¬ 
bour’s house when the Germans arrived in the 
village, and had been entered on the list as 
belonging to that household. She had ob¬ 
served when she came back home that there 
was a notice on the door saying that a man, 
woman, and three children resided therein. 
They had counted her brother and sisters but 
had not included her. Louise was quick to 
remark this and to wonder if she could not 
turn it to advantage. 


68 Little Heroes of France 

The family sat up nearly all night waiting 
for daylight, everyone far too excited to want 
sleep. However, one by one they dozed off*. 
At dawn, Louise came in from the room where 
she had been sitting and opened the door as 
quietly as she could. The German sentinel 
heard her and would have stopped her but she 
pointed out to him, 

“I do not belong to this house. There are 
the three children lying there in a corner. I 
have just been waiting for the light to go to my 
own home. Please let me by. I shall get a 
terrible scolding from mother who must be 
worrying about me.” 

The soldier, half dazed by lack of sleep, 
looked at the notice on the door, and, seeing 
that only three children were supposed to be 
in the house, without thinking of the con¬ 
sequences, let Louise pass. Down through 
the garden she crept and, as her home was on 
the outskirts of the village, reached the open 
country immediately. 

She kept as much as she could in the shadow 
of the bushes surrounding the fields, and 
came at last to a road that she must cross. 
She found that it was guarded by what ap¬ 
peared to be a peasant walking up and down, 


Louise Haumont 69 

but she knew quite well that it was a Uhlan, 
and that the man had his hand on his pistol 
ready to shoot any one who disobeyed the 
German commander's orders. Down behind 
the hedge she dropped, lying flat on the 
ground. She was dressed in a dark green 
frock which blended with the leaves and 
helped screen her from the sentry's observa¬ 
tion. She was careful to make no sound, as 
even the rustling of a leaf might arouse the 
man's suspicion and lead to her discovery. 
Through a small hole in the hedge she watched 
the man patrolling to and fro. It annoyed 
her to be held up that way because she knew 
that if she could only cross the road she would 
be in comparative safety, since on the other 
side was a small wood, and between it and the 
fort large fields of waving corn. 

Louise smiled to herself when she remem¬ 
bered that she was so short that, once safely 
in the fields, she would be entirely hidden by 
the corn. 

“If only I can reach the fort," she thought, 
“the men will be sorry they ever teased me 
because I am so small. It will be my turn to 
laugh at them." 

The sentry was so vigilant that Louise must 


70 Little Heroes of France 

have crouched on the ground more than an 
hour before she saw her opportunity. The 
Uhlan turned his back for a minute and 
looked out over the fields where he thought he 
saw someone moving, shading his eyes with 
his hands, for the sun had just risen. Across 
the road she darted, and reached the wood 
without being seen. Again she kept quiet for 
a time, until she was sure she had not been 
noticed; then slowly she worked her way out 
of the woods and through the cornfields un¬ 
til she came to the first trench before the 
fort. Here she was accosted by the French 
sentry. 

“Where are you going, little Louise?” he 
asked. “You should still be in bed dream¬ 
ing.” 

“I must see the commander of the fort at 
once,” replied the child. “Let me go in.” 

The soldier, smiling, patted her on the head. 

“The commander is too busy to be worried 
by chattering little girls. Go back to your 
breakfast, and don't be late for school, or you 
will be punished and will not be able to play 
with your comrades or come to meet us. Who 
knows, when I come down into the village, 
whether I may not have a present for you?” 


Louise Haumont 


7i 

Louise insisted, but the soldier said he could 
not allow her to enter the fort. 

“But I want to tell the commander that 
the Prussians are in the village!” she ex¬ 
claimed, finally. 

“Oh!” said the soldier, startled. “Why 
didn't you say that at once?” 

He had no reason to doubt the child's 
truthfulness, so he called immediately for one 
of his comrades and told him to conduct 
Louise into the fort. The soldier was as¬ 
tonished to see his little friend afoot so early in 
the morning, but when she told him her er¬ 
rand, he saw that she reached the commander 
without any further delay. 

Louise told her story in detail and with 
wonderful intelligence for one so young. The 
officer ordered his man to give her breakfast, 
and told her to wait, while he gave instruc¬ 
tions for the defense of the fort under the new 
conditions. Returning to the child, he said: 

“You undertook a dangerous mission in com¬ 
ing to let us know of the arrival of the enemy; 
we shall never be able to thank you enough. 
You are not only a dear little girl who has 
helped to keep my men cheerful, but you are 
as brave as you are good. You must stay here 


J2 Little Heroes of France 

for the present, but I hope that you will be 
able to go home this evening.” 

The commander issued an order for none of 
the men to leave the fort. Having learned 
from Louise approximately the number of 
Germans in the village, late that night he left 
enough men behind to defend the fort and 
launched an attack against the enemy. The 
latter, believing their presence to be unknown, 
were taken by surprise, and forced to retire in 
disorder, many of them remaining as prisoners 
in the hands of the French. 


LOUIS AND MARCELLE DENI SOT 



Now he is dead, and cannot speak, shoot me! For I will 
never answer any questions you may put to me! 
































































































































































































LOUIS AND MARCELLE DENISOT 

E YES right! Attention! Forward!” 

The little army of twenty boys led by 
Louis Denisot marched up the village 
street. Behind him, carrying the flag, walked 
Marcelle. He was the youngest warrior, and 
owed the fact that he was standard bearer 
entirely to favouritism. Was he not the 
baby brother of the great General Louis? 
The general was obliged to spend all his time 
drilling the men. He would have liked to 
arrange some sham fights, but not one of the 
other boys would consent to be a German and 
take a licking from the French army. Any¬ 
way, it did not matter much; it was great fun 
to shoulder their wooden guns, to flourish 
their tin swords, and to charge an imaginary 
enemy whose strength, in all instances, was 
supposed to be greatly superior to their own. 
There was an underlying note of gravity in 
the boys' play. The great war had already 


75 


76 Little Heroes of France 

lasted a year and secretly they hoped that 
some day they might be allowed to take their 
place in France’s army. 

Louis was acknowledged leader by all the 
other lads. He was eleven and a half years 
old and had taken his self-appointed task as 
general seriously to heart. Whenever he 
could get one of the real soldiers to spare him 
a few moments of his time, he would learn the 
army drill, and, in turn, instruct his comrades. 
If any one of them showed signs of slackness 
or inattention, he would rally his army 
around him, and tell some tale of heroism that 
he had heard from the troopers. 

Once when they were passing near a group 
of men, the soldiers called to Louis. 

“If you are not engaged in any serious 
strategical attack, General,” said a corporal, 
“I will tell you something that happened the 
other day. I saw the great General Petain, 
the Commander-in-Chief of the French Army, 
returning to his headquarters. He passed a 
band of small boys playing at soldiers in the 
street. They were dressed in paper hats, and 
carried wooden swords not half so good as 
yours, and were going through the military 
exercises. General Petain stopped to watch 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 77 

them. At last, he beckoned to the boy who 
was acting as officer, and said, 

“‘You have a fine body of men under your 
command. I know a good soldier when I see 
one. I am Petain.’ 

“‘Isn’t that funny?’ replied the boy. ‘I, 
too, call myself Petain, just to make the 
other boys obey me, and I am the Com- 
mander-in-Chief of this army.’ 

“The great general was much amused. He 
called for one of his aide-de-camps, who soon 
returned with a small parcel. 

“Turning to the child the general said to 
him, ‘Here is a sugar stick; it is a baton 
for you. Who knows whether later on both 
you and I may not earn a “Marechal’s 
Baton?””’ 

“That shows that General Petain thinks 
we children are worth while,” answered 
Louis, and, catching sight of his army standing 
at ease, he shouted to them, “To work, lazy 
ones! Get into line! March!” and away they 
went. 

Not only did Louis drill his men, but he 
tried to make them feel that they were pa¬ 
triots; and when one of the boys called out 
thoughtlessly to little Marcelle, “Come along 


78 Little Heroes of France 

to play and bring the flag with you,” he 
rounded on him sharply. “Marcelle can go 
with you, but he will not take the flag. You 
cannot play with the flag.” 

The Denisot children had led such a hard 
life that it was not surprising that Louis had 
developed strength of character out of pro¬ 
portion to his age. Their father had died 
when Marcelle was only a year old, and their 
mother, grieving for him, had followed him 
shortly after to the grave. They were left in 
charge of an old uncle, a gruff, stern man who 
paid little attention to them, so that they 
were accustomed to roam about the country 
as they wished, finding their happiness as best 
they could. Louis, having carried Marcelle 
as a baby in his arms, had grown up with a 
deep love and a sense of fatherly protection 
for him. When Marcelle was old enough to 
play with him, Louis led him into all kinds of 
mischief; but really, he was proud of his 
young brother, and held himself responsible 
for his welfare. 

There was never anything occurring in the 
district that the two boys did not discover in 
the course of their wanderings. When the 
farmers wanted news of the next village and of 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 79 

what was taking place there, they would 
inquire of Louis, feeling certain he would 
know everything that was happening. 

The farm where the children lived was only 
a short distance behind the French lines. 
Late in 1915 there was much going on at all 
times to interest them. The troops were 
constantly passing to and fro from the 
trenches. Louis marched to the outskirts of 
the village with the regiments going up the 
line, and he always tried to meet the men 
returning from the fight. At night he and 
Marcelle would sit with the soldiers around 
their campfires, and listen to their tales. It 
was in this way that they first learned of the 
real danger menacing their country, of the 
courage of those who had died, and that a 
man must give his life rather than betray his 
country or his comrades. 

“It is hard that we are only children, 
Marcelle and I,” said Louis one evening to the 
soldiers. “There seems to be nothing we can 
do to help. I drill the boys but I am afraid 
the war may be finished before any of us are 
old enough to serve our country.” 

“You children have already helped us,” 
answered a sergeant, his face flushing with 


80 Little Heroes of France 

anger and his eyes filling with tears as the 
memory of a boy's death came to him. 

“Do you know that a Boy Scout only 
fourteen years old died for his country? He 
knew that a number of French soldiers, cut off 
from their comrades during a retreat, were 
hiding in a cave on the hillside. During the 
day he would collect what food he could from 
the villagers, and put it into a large basket 
which he carried out at night to the French¬ 
men, thus feeding them right under the noses 
of the Germans without the enemy finding 
out what he was doing. 

“A traitor told the enemy that the child 
could give information as to where the French¬ 
men were concealed. The Scout was immedi¬ 
ately arrested and brought before a German 
officer to be examined. 

“ c You must tell us at once where to find the 
Frenchmen or you will be shot! You deserve 
to be killed anyway for deceiving us and 
feeding the men.' 

ccc You are wasting time,' replied the boy. 
‘I will not tell you where the soldiers are 
hiding, nor will I go near them again for fear 
you might send someone to follow me.' 

“Refusing to say another word, he walked 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 81 

straight to a telegraph pole near by, placed 
himself against it, and shouted to the officer, 
"Order your men to shoot me, I die for 
France.' 

“The Germans, infuriated by his obstinacy, 
commanded his execution. Later on, we 
found a note in the diary of a German soldier 
which read as follows: 

“A traitor has just been shot—a little French lad 
belonging to one of those Gymnastic Societies which 
wears a Tricolour button. I believe they are called 
Boy Scouts. The poor little fellow, in his infatuation, 
wanted to be a hero, and out of bravado refused to 
answer the question our captain put to him. The 
prisoner was asked in French if he knew where some 
soldiers were concealed. He did not deny that he 
could give the information, but refused to supply it. 
He went with a firm step to a telegraph pole and stood 
against it, the green vineyard behind, while he received 
the volley of the firing party with a proud smile on his 
face. Foolish lad! It was a pity to see such wasted 
courage.” 

There was silence for a few minutes. Then 
one of the men sitting near Louis said: 

“The "wasted courage' was the spirit of 
France which the Germans will never under¬ 
stand. That spirit is more magnificent than 


8 2 Little Heroes of France 

bravery, more splendid than heroism, more 
august than martyrdom. It is the spirit which 
makes it possible for the people of France to 
have one desire, to live one life, and when 
called on, to die one death. Isn’t that true, 
Louis and Marcelle?” 

Marcelle hesitated. After all, he was only 
six years old and hated the thought of dying. 
Finally he answered, “If I had been the 
Boy Scout I should have tried to run away 
when the Germans were not looking.” 

Louis placed his hand over his brother’s 
mouth and remarked, “Pay no attention to 
him. Marcelle is too young to understand. 
I promise you, sergeant, I would not have 
tried to escape.” He clenched his little fist and 
his eyes blazed. “I should have tried to 
fight, and what is more, some day I will 
fight! And I’ll avenge the death of that Boy 
Scout.” 

Poor, brave little Frenchman! 

The boys were out late one evening when 
four traction engines passed down the main 
street, dragging great guns behind them. 
It was the first time they had seen such 
large cannons, so they followed behind them 
some four miles out from the village and 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 83 

watched the men put them in place. They 
thought it immensely amusing to see the 
precautions taken to hide them. First, the 
soldiers placed over them cloths covered with 
fine green straw to imitate grass, while on top 
of the cloths they affixed branches and shrubs 
until only the muzzles of the cannons peeped 
out, making the guns look like small green 
hillocks. 

The soldiers were so busy at first that they 
did not notice the children. When they 
found that they were observing them, they ex¬ 
plained that the guns were being camouflaged 
to hide them from the enemy aviators, and that 
it was most important that they should not be 
discovered as they were of a new type and the 
French military authorities were anxious to 
test them. 

“To-night the enemy will hear our'quartette 
sing. I rather think they will not like the 
melody—they would give much to know just 
where these cannons are hidden,” said one of 
the artillerymen. “You children must re¬ 
member that France expects you to be silent. 
You must not inform even the other people in 
the village that you have seen them. Now 
run home as quickly as you can. We shall 


84 Little Heroes of France 

start firing almost immediately, and the noise 
would deafen you.” 

“Of course I shall not tell any one and I will 
see that Marcelle has no chance to chatter,” 
replied Louis. 

“I would not say anything, anyway,” pro¬ 
tested Marcelle. 

“Perhaps you would, and perhaps you 
wouldn't,” added Louis, “but I do not trust 
you, since you were coward enough the other 
night to say that if you were questioned by the 
Germans you would try to escape.” 

The soldiers laughed at the children's 
quarrel, and ordered them again to clear off 
as fast as they could. Louis would have liked 
to stay to see the guns fired, but, taking 
Marcelle by the hand, he started to scamper off 
in what he believed to be the direction of their 
home. 

After travelling for a long time Louis realized 
that they must have lost their way. It was 
pitch dark, making it impossible for him to see 
any landmark to guide him, while Marcelle 
lagged behind whimpering, saying that his 
feet were sore and that he could walk no 
farther. Louis urged him to go forward, but 
after nearly an hour had elapsed without their 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 85 

finding the village, he knew that unless he 
could carry Marcelle, they must stop. He 
tried to lift him in his arms, but the boy was 
far too heavy, so he decided they had better 
wait for daylight. Cuddling together to keep 
warm they chose a dry spot and lay down to 
sleep. 

They could not rest for a long time for the 
four cannons opened fire and the enemy re¬ 
plied in like manner, endeavouring to locate 
and destroy the French guns. 

“ Those are our guns,” said Louis to Mar¬ 
celle. “I bet you the Germans hate them. 
One good thing, they will never find them 
hidden away up there.” 

Finally, the guns were silent and the two 
children dropped off to sleep. Louis was 
awakened next morning by a kick in the ribs 
and, opening his eyes, he saw a party of Ger¬ 
man soldiers watching him. He realized at 
once that they had wandered the night before 
beyond the French defences into the German 
lines. He woke Marcelle, telling him not to be 
frightened, and, sitting up, the children looked 
at the enemy soldiers. The men were talking 
among themselves. At last one of them, who 
spoke bad French, shouted to the boys, “Get 


86 Little Heroes of France 

up on your feet and stand at attention. Now 
answer me truthfully. Why are you sleeping 
out here in the open? Do you live in one of 
the villages that now has the happiness to be 
under German rule?” 

“Thank goodness we do not belong to any 
place where you are,” responded Louis. 
“There is a tricolour flag of France above our 
home. We come from the village over yonder 
behind the French lines. We lost our way in 
the dark last night.” 

“A likely story,” replied the German. “Do 
you think I believe it for one moment? You 
children are the best spies of the French 
Army—we know your intelligence department 
uses you to get information about our move¬ 
ments. We will take you to our officer, and 
you can repeat your tale to him. You will be 
lucky if you escape with your lives and are 
only punished by being sent to work in the 
fields or in the ammunition factories in Ger¬ 
many.” 

Marcelle’s face was white and he was 
trembling with fear. Louis did his best to 
encourage him, as, with heads erect, they were 
marched between the soldiers back to the 
officers’ quarters. The men tried to keep 


Louis and Marcelle Deni sot 87 

them from communicating with each other, but 
Louis managed to say to Marcelle: 

“Remember, when you are questioned, you 
know nothing.” 

Marcelle nodded his head to show that he 
had understood. 

When they were brought into the presence 
of the officer and he found out from the 
soldiers the district to which they belonged, it 
was easy to see that he was both pleased and 
interested. He called the boys to him and 
asked: 

“Are you not tired after walking so far and 
sleeping in the open air?” 

“That will not hurt us. We have often 
done it before,” Louis replied, doggedly. 

“Still, you must be hungry,” continued the 
officer. “Sergeant, take them away, do not 
allow them to talk to each other, but see that 
they have a good breakfast.” He even went 
to his bag and took out two sticks of chocolate, 
handing one to each child. Evidently he was 
anxious to win the boys* confidence by posing 
as their friend. 

Louis refused the chocolate, but Marcelle’s 
face lit up with smiles when he saw the candy. 
Louis watched him anxiously. He did not 


88 Little Heroes of France 

like to see his brother accepting favours from 
the enemy, nor to think that he might be 
capable of making friends with them and, 
without knowing the importance of the in¬ 
formation he was giving, supply them with the 
facts they wished to learn. He was not re¬ 
assured when at breakfast, in spite of the 
strict order given to them not to speak to each 
other, Marcelle said: 

“I am thinking of that Boy Scout, Louis. 
He must have been foolish or rude to the 
officer to make the Germans kill him. I shall 
not try to run away. They are kind people. 
I have not had any chocolate for over a year 
and it tastes awfully good.” 

Before Louis could warn him that he dis¬ 
trusted the leniency that was being shown 
them, the soldier on guard commanded them 
to be silent. 

After they had eaten all they wanted, the 
officer sent for them. On the way to the tent 
Louis suddenly started to sob. Marcelle 
could not understand the apparent collapse of 
his brother's attitude of proud defiance and 
disdain. He could not read his thoughts and 
know that although Louis loved him with 
passionate tenderness, he had that moment 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 89 

made his decision—his brother must not live 
to betray his country. 

The officer was sitting in a small room in one 
of the cottages when the boys were ushered in. 

“What are your names?” 

“Louis and Marcelle Denisot.” 

“Do you love France?” 

ti V >> 

Yes. 

“Have you been taught to hate Germany?” 

<< v y> 

Yes. 

“You must not say that. Have we not 
been good to you? We should always be just 
as kind if you only obeyed us and recognized 
that Germany is the greatest country in the 
world.” 

“I hate Germany,” reiterated Louis. 

The officer bit his lip to hide his rising anger 
and tried to smile. 

“ I see you have strength of character.” He 
added, “That means you are intelligent and 
will have enough sense to answer a question 
I want to put to you. We were bombarded 
last night and early this morning by some 
guns which our aviators have not been able 
to locate. They must be hidden somewhere 
in the district from which you come. Have 
you seen them?” 


go Little Heroes of France 

Louis might have been able to plead ig¬ 
norance, but unfortunately Marcelle, proud of 
his knowledge, said without thinking, “There 
are four of them—they are the largest I have 
ever seen.” 

‘‘Be quiet, Marcelle, you know nothing,” 
urged Louis. 

The mischief, however, was done. The 
officer knew that the children could give him 
the information he wanted. 

Still looking at them kindly, he continued, 

“I see you are bright and clever children. 
Now, tell me what you know about those guns. 
You are the eldest, Louis, and should be able 
to give the most exact details.” 

He called to one of his men to take down the 
boy's statement, but Louis remained silent, 
refusing to answer any questions, while Mar¬ 
celle, awed by his brother's stern look and 
perhaps realizing that he had already talked 
too much, shifted uneasily from one foot to the 
other. 

Dropping his mask of gentleness, his face 
stern and hard, the officer turned to Louis. 

“If you are obstinate, you will be shot.” 

It was then that Louis spoke. 

“I will tell you all you wish. I know just 


Louis and Marcelle Denisot 91 

where the guns are hidden. I watched the 
artillerymen placing them in position. Give 
me a map and I will make a cross within a few 
yards of where they are located. But before I 
do it, you must grant me one request. I have 
always posed in the village among the other 
boys as a hero and a patriot. If I give you the 
information you want, my brother will go 
back some day and all the village will be told 
that I was a traitor. Ever since he was a baby 
he has been a nuisance to me, and I should be 
glad to be free of him. I will tell you where 
the guns are hidden if you will first shoot my 
brother, so that when I see his dead body, I 
can be sure that none of my friends will ever 
know I betrayed France.” 

Marcelle tried to throw his arms around his 
brother’s neck to plead with him, but the 
soldiers kept them apart. 

The officer thought for a few minutes—the 
life of one child meant nothing to him, and the 
information regarding the guns was of im¬ 
mense value. Louis stood with his head 
bowed, clenching his hands until his nails cut 
into his flesh. There passed before him in 
those few seconds the picture of all the happy 
hours he had spent with his baby brother, the 


92 Little Heroes of France 

games they had played together, and the plans 
they had made for the time when they should 
be grown-ups. Yet he did not falter. 

Upon the order of the officer, the soldiers led 
Marcelle away, the shots rang out, and the 
body of his brother was brought back and laid 
at Louis' feet. 

“Now, are you satisfied?" asked the officer, 
as, standing up, he stretched across the table 
to shake hands with Louis. 

The lad sprang back, striking the German 
across the face, and replied: 

“My brother lies dead at my feet. He was 
too young to understand as much as I do. If 
I had defied you, you would have killed me and 
then you would have gotten the facts you 
wanted from him. I let you kill him, there¬ 
fore, for fear he should betray France. Now 
he is dead, and cannot speak, shoot me! For 
I will never answer any question you may put 
to me!" 

So died Louis Denisot, who gave his life and 
that of his little brother in order that France 
might live. 


BABY PIERRE 



“‘If any German tried to hurt me , 
I would get a big stick and fight 
him ’ ” 




























BABY PIERRE 


T HE cottage in which Pierre lived with 
his mother was small but cheerful, and 
so clean that when he was a tiny tot he 
could crawl all over the floors without soiling 
his little pink hands and feet. The roses and 
jasmin climbed over the cottage walls, peeping 
in at the windows, nodding good day to the 
small man, and there was always warm milk 
and good white bread waiting on the table for 
him when the sunbeams, creeping over his cot 3 
woke him in the mornings; always two strong 
hands ready to lift him from his bed. 

It may have been a small cottage, but 
Pierre was perfectly happy, since there dwelt 
with him the most wonderfully kind person 
in the world—his mother. He was too young, 
just four years old, to understand why his 
mother would sometimes cry when she held 
him tightly clasped to her heart, too little to 
realize that it was because his father had died 
soon after he was born. 


95 


96 Little Heroes of France 

Sometimes his mother would speak of him 
to her neighbours as her only consolation. He 
did not know what it meant to be a “con¬ 
solation,” but since his mother smiled when 
she spoke of him that way, he was glad and his 
baby face would light up with joy. 

He did not miss his father—after all, fathers 
work all day, whereas mothers are always on 
the spot ready to pick you up and kiss you if 
you fall—until in the autumn of 1914 when the 
other children commenced to boast of theirs. 

“My father was at the Marne with Joffre,” 
said Andre. 

“My father has been fighting ever since the 
war first began,” replied Jacques. 

Little Pierre listened but took no part in 
their conversation. The other children seemed 
proud of their fathers, and anxious to walk 
hand in hand with the men in strange new 
clothes which they called uniforms. He asked 
his mother why the men had changed their 
clothes and she tried to make him understand. 
“If thy father had lived, he, too, would be 
fighting for France and for us. He was a 
brave man, little Pierre. You would have 
been as proud of him as the other boys are of 
their fathers.” 


Baby Pierre 97 

Not only the fathers of his comrades wore 
the strange blue clothes, but all day long other 
men passed through the village in the same 
uniform. As Pierre swung on the gate before 
the cottage, the soldiers stopped to speak to 
him, or to give him small pieces of chocolate 
from the sacks which they carried on their 
backs, and sometimes they allowed him for a 
few seconds to hold their long rifles. His 
mother talked of the terrible war but Pierre 
thought it all great sport. Never before had 
so many men talked to him, never before had 
so many hands caressed his golden head. 

Then came the day when for the first time 
he heard thunder which his mother seemed to 
fear. Before, when there had been storms 
with thunder and lightning, she had been 
brave while Pierre had cried and had taken 
refuge in her arms. Now she appeared terri¬ 
fied. She hesitated a long time before de¬ 
ciding to go to the next village, some four 
miles away, to fetch some needlework to do at 
home although she needed the money she would 
earn to buy food for herself and Pierre. At 
first she thought of taking him with her, but 
he walked so slowly, and was so heavy for her 
to carry, especially as she would have the 


98 Little Heroes of France 

bundle of needlework with her, that she de¬ 
cided to leave him in the house. 

She took him on her knee and made him 
promise that he would not go out of the cot¬ 
tage, not even into the garden to talk to his 
friends, the soldiers, if any passed that way. 

“It is not thunder we hear,” she said, 
“but the sound of cannons. I do not know 
whether they are our own or the enemy’s, but 
as we hear them so plainly, they must be very 
near us. Play with your toys indoors, little 
son, and no matter who calls you, stay here.” 

“I will not go outside, mother,” promised 
Pierre, “even if the tall soldier who once gave 
me three bars of chocolate should pass by and 
beckon to me. I will just pretend I do not 
see him.” 

In spite of the fact that he was only four 
years old, his mother knew that he would keep 
his word, and she started out at once so as to 
get back as quickly as possible. 

Tired of playing with his tin soldiers, an 
hour or so later Pierre climbed on a chair to 
look out of the window. He saw a soldier dash 
by on horseback, and soon the church bell be¬ 
gan to peal out a warning to the inhabitants of 
the village. Everyone rushed out. Pierre 


Baby Pierre 99 

could hear them shouting. There was noise 
and confusion everywhere. The neighbours 
opposite had run after the horseman. In a 
few minutes they were back, the women 
wringing their hands and calling for their 
children. Pierre saw them dart into the 
houses and come out carrying packages rolled 
up in sheets, even the small children struggling 
under heavy loads. The news had been 
brought to the village that the Germans, 
having pierced the French line, would soon be 
upon them and all the villagers were flying 
before the oncoming enemy. 

Pierre was so excited that he jumped up and 
down on his chair, and, losing his balance, fell 
to the ground, striking his head against the 
table with such force that he lay on the floor 
unconscious. One of the women knocked at 
the door but received no reply. Anxious to 
hurry on without loss of time, she concluded 
that Madame Deslandes had taken Pierre 
with her. 

The news of the probable invasion of the 
village spread rapidly. Madame Deslandes 
heard it on her way home. She dropped the 
bundle she was carrying, and dashed back to 
her cottage to save her little Pierre. 


i oo Little Heroes of France 

Pierre, who was recovering from his fall, 
sat watching her as she hastily got together as 
many of her things as she could, and placed 
them on a small handcart. As Pierre was 
still weak from the blow he had received on his 
head, she put him on top of the cart and, draw¬ 
ing it after her, started to follow the rest of the 
villagers in their flight. Over the rough road 
she travelled as fast as she could, but the cart 
wheels stuck so often in the soft mud that her 
progress was slow. She looked always ahead, 
dreading to gaze behind. Every few minutes 
she called to Pierre not to be afraid. She was 
out of sight of the rest of the refugees, but she 
stumbled bravely on, hoping against hope to 
catch up with them. 

Suddenly one of the wheels bumped over a 
bundle dropped by the peasants in their flight, 
while, at the same time, a shell burst near by 
drowning the cry of Pierre as he was jerked 
from the handcart and thrown face down into 
the mud. Another shell burst on the road, a 
fragment struck Pierre, and he rolled over un¬ 
conscious. His mother sped on, little dream¬ 
ing that she had lost her boy. 

Hard on the heels of the flying people came 
the wounded soldiers, struggling to reach a 


Baby Pierre ioi 

place of safety in order to avoid being taken 
prisoners. Many of them looked at the child's 
body, but seeing that he was wounded and 
thinking that he was dead, they passed on 
their way. There was no time to be lost, no 
time to waste sympathy on the dead. But 
one of them, more tender-hearted than the 
rest, although wounded himself and nearly 
blinded with blood and mud, could not bear 
to think of the little body lying there to be 
crushed beneath the heavy cannon wheels. 
Throwing away his kit and his rifle, he lifted 
the child in his arms. 

Late that night the man struggled into 
an improvised dressing station. The doctors 
bound up his wounds and attended to little 
Pierre. Not knowing what to do with the 
child, they placed him on the stretcher with 
the soldier, and Pierre and his rescuer arrived 
together at the Scottish Women's Hospital in 
the Abbaye de Royaumont. 

The women surgeons had been notified of 
the arrival of the wounded. All necessary 
preparations had been made to receive them, 
so that within an hour they had operated, 
first on the soldier, and then on Pierre. They 
took a piece of shrapnel from the child’s back 


102 Little Heroes of France 

and the next day he was able to notice all that 
was going on around him. He cried bitterly 
at first for his mother. The girls tried to 
console him by promising that she would soon 
come to him, and as they knew it was bad for 
him to lie there sobbing, whenever one of them 
was off duty she would sit by him and talk to 
him to amuse him. 

His wound was not serious. He suffered 
more from shock than from anything else, so 
that his recovery was rapid. His soldier 
friend appeared to be doing well at first, but 
later the doctors began to look grave, as the 
man did not seem to be making any effort to 
live. One of the doctors came to him, and 
said: 

“We have done all we can for you. Now, 
you must do your part. Your nurse reports 
that you refuse to take nourishment at the 
stated hours, and that you are a very difficult 
patient.” 

“ I do not see that it matters whether I live 
or die,” answered the man. “I shall never 
be able to fight again, probably never even 
able to work again. I would rather be dead 
than pass the rest of my days as an invalid.” 

“You are exaggerating your case. There 


Baby Pierre 103 

is no reason why you should not recover your 
former strength/' replied the doctor. “ Be¬ 
sides, you must think of those who love you 
and want you back home with them." 

“I have no relatives, no one depends on me, 
and there is no one to worry about me. Why 
should I bother to get well?" 

The doctor had a sudden inspiration. 
“What do you mean when you say no one 
depends on you? What about the child you 
brought in? We have not been able to find 
out who are its parents, so you will have to 
keep it yourself." Turning to one of the 
nurses, she added, “Go and fetch little 
Pierre at once." 

Before the nurse left the ward, the doctor 
called her to one side, and whispered, “Try 
to make the little man understand how ill the 
soldier is, and that if he shows him affection he 
can help to save him." 

The nurse found him sitting among a group 
of his soldier admirers. All the men, separated 
from their own children, were lavishing their 
pent-up affection on the little golden-haired 
stranger. She talked to him seriously for a 
few minutes; then leading him into the ward, 
placed him on the bed beside the man who 


104 Little Heroes of France 

had brought him into the hospital. Pierre 
kissed him again and again, told him he loved 
him, and petted and teased him as only a 
baby knows how to do. Finally, he rubbed 
his eyes with his fat little fists, yawned 
sleepily, and cuddled down by his friend. 
With a strange new look on his face, the 
soldier passed his arm around him and soon 
they were both sleeping peacefully like two 
little children. 

The doctor smiled. She knew that she had 
won her battle. From that day on the man 
commenced to recover, and Pierre was his 
inseparable companion. 

When the child woke in the morning he 
would cry for his father. Twenty soldiers 
would answer to the call, but Pierre would 
have nothing to do with them. He kept all 
his affection for the man who had adopted 
him and had taught him to call him “Father.” 
He would allow no one else to dress him, he 
would take part in no games unless the man 
was present; and, night after night, the soldier 
would walk up and down the hospital ward 
with the child in his arms crooning a lullaby 
to him until the tired little eyes would close. 

Of course he should not have been there. 


Baby Pierre 105 

It was a military hospital where none but 
soldiers should have received attention. It 
was wonderful, however, how blind the officers 
were when they came to make their rounds of 
inspection. Not one of them ever managed 
to see the child. As a matter of fact, they 
knew he amused the men, and helped them to 
pass away the weary hours of inactivity in the 
hospital. They were quite glad, therefore, to 
overlook his presence, while the hospital staff 
could not bear to think of losing him. 

After a thorough investigation had been 
made without his relatives being discovered^ 
the doctors assisted Jacques Marot to obtain 
the necessary permission from the authorities 
to adopt legally the child he had saved. The 
man was overjoyed when he heard he could 
keep the boy, and remarked humorously, “I 
am lucky, doctor. It is so convenient to have 
a family without any of the bother of being 
married." 

Jacques' only anxiety was that when he was 
well enough he would be obliged to leave the 
child and go back to fight for France. 

“What will happen to my little son?" he 
asked one of the doctors. “I have no home 
and no relative to whom I can send him." 


106 Little Heroes of France 

“Don't you worry about the boy," replied 
the doctor. “You are not the only one who 
loves him. We will keep him with us here so 
that when you are on leave you will know just 
where to find him and can arrange to stay 
near by, and spend your time with him. One 
of us will write you every week to tell you how 
he is progressing. He will learn to speak 
English with us, and you had better study it, 
too, in order to keep pace with your son.” 

“I don't want to leave the girls. I want to 
stay here,” Pierre chirped as he put his arms 
around the doctor's neck. 

“Do you love us so much, Pierre?” 

“I love English puddings,” replied Pierre, 
smiling roguishly. 

“That is cupboard love, baby, but I like to 
believe that in spite of pretending to be a 
greedy boy, you are really fond of us.” 

Once entirely well, it was no easy matter to 
keep Master Pierre quiet. The members of 
the hospital staff were too busy to look after 
him much, and the men took it upon them¬ 
selves to entertain him as best they could. A 
tall sergeant, who had been severely wounded 
in the leg, had a brilliant idea. He formed a 
story club, making each of the members think 


Baby Pierre 107 

of a tale to tell Pierre at bedtime, provided he 
had behaved well during the day. They could 
have recounted to him many anecdotes of the 
heroism of their comrades, but he was too 
young to understand them, so they only told 
him tales of the children who had helped 
during the war. 

When Pierre heard the news he was im¬ 
mensely pleased, and promised to do his best 
to earn his bedtime story. 

Young Jean Michel commenced the first 
evening: 

‘‘This is the second time I have been 
wounded. The first time I received treat¬ 
ment in what had been a large boys’ school 
before the war. Half of the building had 
been turned into a hospital, while the pupils 
worked and played crowded together in the 
other half. It did us good to hear them 
shouting and laughing as they frolicked in the 
small courtyard. When I was well enough to 
leave the ward, I went out often to sit on a 
gallery surrounding the playground and 
watched them. 

“They seemed so light-hearted and happy 
that I wondered sometimes if they understood 
that a terrible war was going on so close to 


108 Little Heroes of France 

them. When people do not hear the guns they 
do not think so much about the cold, wet 
trenches, and the men who are dying by the 
thousands out on the battlefield. 

“We men were all delighted when we heard, 
one morning that the children, of their own 
free will, had asked permission to be allowed 
to come to visit us. 

“Each of them arrived with a packet of 
cigarettes, or some fruit. I wanted to find out 
how much they knew about the war, and I 
picked out one rosy-cheeked boy about twelve 
years old, and started to talk with him. I had 
noticed that in all the games he took a leading 
part. He was a manly little chap, yet seemed 
one of the most carefree of the scholars. 

“ c How do you like to have so little room to 
work in and to be obliged to give up so many 
games you used to play?’ I asked him. 

“ c Oh! we do not mind a bit,’ he answered. 
‘We are only too glad to know that the 
soldiers are in our class rooms, and that they 
have our large playground to sit in when they 
are getting well. You must not imagine 
because we laugh and play that we do not 
think of the wounded lying suffering so close 
to us. Do you know we boys are all drilling 


Baby Pierre 109 

under a military instructor, and we have never 
worked as well as now? We feel that it is the 
only way in which we can show the men that 
we appreciate all that they are doing for us. I 
wish you could see the difference between 
our reports this term and last. The masters 
say it is too good to last, but I believe they 
think we will try to “carry on” and do our 
best/ 

‘“That's fine!' I said. ‘I am sure it 
would make my comrades happy if they 
knew you were doing that for them.' 

a The lad's face became suddenly grave and 
he added, ‘I only wish we could do more. 
We understand perfectly well that the soldiers 
are dying so that we may grow up “Not only 
Frenchmen , but freemen .'" 

“ I did not fail to repeat the story to all my 
comrades. You can imagine, Pierre, that it 
was a great consolation to us all to know that 
these boys realized that we were fighting for 
them and for France.” 

“Certainly the children want to remain 
French. That reminds me of a saying of my 
own little girl,” said one of the soldiers who was 
sitting on the foot of Pierre's bed. “She came 
with me to the station to see me leave for the 


no Little Heroes of France 

front. She was too little to know that I was 
running a great risk and that she might not 
see me again, but she had her own idea of why 
I had to go to war. 

“‘Fight hard, daddy,, won’t you?’ she said. 
‘You must win because I do not want to be a 
German when I am a big girl.’ ” 

Next night, one of the men said, cc Gaston 
was boasting of his little girl last night. Let 
me tell you this evening, Pierre, why I think I 
should be proud of my small son. 

“Soon after I left for the front he was taken 
ill with measles. During the first days of his 
sickness he had a high fever, but as soon as he 
was well enough to see what was taking place 
around him, his mother noticed that he 
followed her every movement with his eyes, 
and that he could not bear to have her away 
from his side for a moment. Naturally, while 
he was dangerously ill, she had no time to 
think of me. When he was better, she sat 
down one afternoon near the boy’s bed and 
commenced to write to me. It was only then 
that he told her why he had been watching her 
so closely. 

“‘Are you sending a letter to father?’ 

“Wes, dear. He must be anxious because I 


Baby Pierre 111 

have not given him news of us both since you 
were taken sick/ 

“ C I am glad you did not write before/ he 
replied. ‘I have been looking out for the 
time when you would send him a letter. I 
want you to promise me mother, that you will 
not tell him I have been so ill, because if he 
is worried about me, he will not be able to 
fight as well as he should.’ 

“To please him, his mother did not mention 
his illness in that letter, but when he was 
absolutely out of danger she told me for she 
realized that I would be a better soldier if I 
knew how brave the boy I was fighting for 
was, and that it would help me.” 

“ I am sure it did help,” said an artilleryman, 
who was one of Pierre’s devoted followers. 
“The children once gave me a good lesson in 
patriotism. 

“When the war broke out and the order to 
come at once into the army reached me, I was 
inclined to grumble. My business was doing 
well, and I knew that it would go to ruin if I 
had to leave it, for there was no one to take 
my place. I was engaged to a very dear girl 
whom I hoped soon to marry, so that it seemed 
to me that my whole future looked black when 


112 Little Heroes of France 

I was called to serve France. I am not ex¬ 
cusing myself, but it was hard to leave every¬ 
one and everything I loved to go to join the 
army. I understood that the country must be 
defended. Yet I would have been quite glad, 
at that moment, to let others do it for me. 

“ There is no need to tell you men of the 
difficulty in bringing about quiet, orderly 
organization during the first days of the War. 
It was forced upon us when we were not 
prepared, and, as everyone of you present was 
mobilized in August, 1914, you know as much 
about the chaos of those days as I do. It was 
the fourth day after we had started that our 
train drew up at a junction and we were 
given permission to get out to stretch our legs. 
We had been in that particular train more 
than thirty hours, travelling twenty-eight men 
in a cattle truck, with nothing but small 
wooden benches to sit on and straw on the floor 
on which to lie down if we wanted to sleep. 
We were delighted, therefore, to be free to 
walk, so we poured out of the train like a pack 
of schoolboys just out of class. 

“The station was in a perfect uproar. 
Everyone was shouting and running, ap¬ 
parently without knowing clearly where he 


Baby Pierre 113 

was going. From some of the platforms trains 
were steaming out laden with men, guns, and 
ammunition, while at others, hospital trains 
were arriving filled with wounded. Amid 
all that confusion and din I came on three 
little boys playing together. They had a 
large piece of chalk with which they were 
writing on the sides of the trucks that were 
going up to the French front, some, alas, to fall 
into German hands. I drew near to watch 
them. I remembered that in my own boyhood 
days it had always amused me to be let loose 
with a piece of chalk and to scribble on any 
wall I could find. I expected to laugh at 
what they were writing. There were so many 
things those boys might have chalked up on 
the wagons, insults against the enemy, slang 
phrases, and so on but on each car they put 
just the same words, J 5 aime la France , I love 
France. 

“I turned away with my heart burning with 
a new spirit. Through my brain ran the 
phrase, and a little child shall lead them . I 
found a spot where it was quieter than the 
centre of the station and bowed my head, 
thinking of my annoyance when I was called 
on to defend my country, of the excuses I had 


114 Little Heroes of France 

tried to find to be allowed to stay behind the 
lines, and I realized for the first time why I 
was going to fight. Knew that like the 
other men of France I was fighting for my 
country and would die for her because I loved 
her. Since that day I have never regretted 
answering the call. ,, 

“If I had a piece of chalk, I would write, 
r I love soldiers,’ ” said Pierre, as he beamed on 
the men around him. 

“You love your pillow, now,” they 
answered. “Close your eyes, or we will 
never tell you another story.” 

Sad but true to relate, for some days 
Pierre was far from good. He crept into the 
kitchen and stole some cake, so that the 
nurses asked the soldiers to punish him by 
not telling him tales. When he said that he 
was sorry and had promised not to do any¬ 
thing as bad again, he was restored to favour. 

“When we were last talking together,” said 
one of the men, “you remarked, Pierre, that 
you would have scratched on the wagons. ‘ I 
love soldiers.’ There are other boys who 
would write the same thing, I think. Forain, 
the great French caricaturist, once drew a 
picture of two tired, wet-to-the-skin French 


Baby Pierre 115 

soldiers, just out of the trenches sitting 
beside a campfire heating coffee. 

“‘This is a terrible war,’ said one of the 
men to the other. c Do you think we will win 
it in the end?’ 

“‘Yes,' replied the other man, ‘provided 
the civilians hold out behind the lines.'' 

“Counting the children as civilians/' said 
Adrian Buchet, “we can certainly say that 
they have held out. I have seen them 
stripped to their waists, the sun beating down 
on their little bare backs, with handkerchiefs 
around their heads, reaping and binding the 
sheaves of corn, watering the horses, and even 
directing the plough. Quite forgetting that 
there were any such things as holidays, when¬ 
ever they were free from school they worked 
side by side with the women and the old men. 

“As I passed through the railway stations 
on my way to the front, more often than not, 
there were groups of girls and boys helping the 
Red Cross Canteen distribute food and hot 
drinks, filling the men's pipes, taking letters 
from them to post, fetching them newspapers 
or magazines, in fact, trying in a hundred 
ways to comfort a trainload of men weary from 
the long journey. In their homes the little 


116 Little Heroes of France 

ones knitted woollen comforts. Even the 
boys learned to knit. I had a scarf sent me 
by a lad myself with this cheerful letter.” 
The soldier dived into his sack for a crumpled 
missive and read: 

“Dear Soldier: 

I am only a little boy but I wish I were older and 
stronger so that I could fight side by side with you and 
my father. The scarf is my own work. If it is not 
very well knitted, please forgive me. I am very clumsy 
and I often slip a stitch. Still, I want you to know that 
all the time I was working I was thinking of you. 

I wish you a happy Christmas and I will pray the 
good God to watch over you. 

Your little friend, 

Jean Merot 

Seven years old.” 

“I want to tell you that I am specially 
lucky. I am the godson of a whole school/’ 
said another soldier. “You know that nearly 
every French family adopted a man who had 
no one else to look after him, wrote to him, or 
sent him presents to cheer him up while he 
was in the trenches, and that the families 
expected their godsons to spend their leave 
with them. I gave my name in to my captain, 
saying that I wished someone would take an in- 


Baby Pierre 117 

terest in me. You can imagine my surprise 
when I heard that I had been adopted by a 
whole school. Each child brought a small 
sum of money every week, and with the total 
amount the teacher bought parcels of goodies 
for me, and sent them up to me at the front. 

“I was thoroughly spoiled by my godfathers 
and godmothers, but, above all, I looked for¬ 
ward to their letters. 

“At Christmas, when I was in hospital, for 
the first time one of my young comrades 
wrote me: 

“Dear Soldier and My Godson: 

If I had a knife with seven blades like the one I 
dreamed about the other night I would send it to you. 
But you know we have had no Christmas presents this 
year, our mothers are alone and they are too poor to 
buy us anything. None of us cry, except those who have 
had bad news of their fathers, or brothers. You must 
be glad you have no little children of your own or else 
they would be crying because you are wounded. Most 
of us envy you,—we should like to fight for France and 
be wounded. When you come back, please come at 
once to see us. You will have children hanging on to 
your coat tails, children climbing on your shoulders and 
on your knees. 

The other day Gaspard, who sits next to me, went into 
another room, and came back with the number of 


118 Little Heroes of France 

service stripes to which you are entitled chalked on his 
coat sleeves, and he had not forgotten to add your 
wound stripes. He announced that he was our godson 
home from the front. Just for fun we pretended it was 
you and gave him a great welcome. He enjoyed it 
until the girls tried to kiss him and then the game was 
smashed up. We shall all want to kiss you. I hope 
you won’t be as horrid as Gaspard and will let us do it. 
We little girls will be so proud to walk with you. We 
shall have to take turns to hold your hand while all the 
passers by will envy us. Please get well soon and be 
sure to write us often. Our teacher reads your letters 
aloud to us; then she writes them up on the blackboard 
so that we can make copies to show to our mothers. 

I wish you a happy Christmas and hope you will 
never be wounded again. 

Your godmother, 

Pauline. 

P. S. We do not want you to be killed but we would 
like you to get a medal. A boy in the school near us 
has a father with a medal and we are sure you are just 
as brave. 

‘‘I wonder how many children had no 
Christmas presents this year, and how many 
of them would be glad to be warm and well 
fed like you, Pierre,” asked another soldier. 

“I am happy,” said Pierre. “I wish all the 
other children could be, too. If I were rich I 
would buy them all Christmas presents, 


Baby Pierre 119 

everyone of them. If I had enough money I 
would buy two for each of them." 

“Good boy,” replied the soldier. “If you'll 
just remember that you will be happy when 
you make other people happy, Pierre, you'll 
know how to find the greatest joy in the world." 

“It is not always the lack of presents that 
makes the children sad," added the tall 
sergeant. CC I was passing one evening late 
down the Champs Elysee and noticed two 
small boys walking ahead of me weeping 
bitterly as they trudged along. They were 
in rags, both looked pale and ill, and one of 
them was barefooted. I caught up with them 
and asked: 

“‘What is the matter? Have you been 
scolded at school?' 

“‘Oh, no,' they answered. c We are cry¬ 
ing because of our dog Gyp. We have had 
him since he was a puppy, but he eats too 
much and mother has not enough food to give 
even to us, so she told us we must take him 
out and lose him. We have walked ever so 
far from our own quarter because we know 
the rich people live around here. We have 
tied Gyp up outside a big house; we hope the 
owner will see what a good dog he is and that 


120 Little Heroes of France 

he will have enough bones to spare for him. 
He was whining and tugging at his cord, but 
we explained to him that we loved him and 
were only parting with him because if he 
stayed with us he would starve to death.' 

“Their sobs broke out anew. c Right about, 
turn,' I said, and, taking them by their hands, 
I went with them back to the place where 
they had left their dog. We found Gyp still 
tied to the post. He welcomed his little 
masters with joyful barks, trying to tell them 
that any good dog would rather starve with 
its master than live on juicy chops and steaks 
with a stranger. I went home with the boys 
and Gyp and found that the family was really 
in need and living in great poverty. I gave 
the mother some money which I had saved up 
and I hope that they were able to purchase 
enough food for some time to come, not only 
for themselves but also for Gyp." 

“There must have been many such cases," 
said one of the men, “but it was hard to find 
them out. The children were so brave, and 
complained so little of their sufferings. I only 
wish that they could know how much the men 
appreciated their sacrifices and the gifts they 
sent. Why, the soldiers would even risk their 


121 


Baby Pierre 

lives to retain a child's present. After we had 
been attacked one day by the Germans and 
were obliged to retire to our trenches, we were 
all astonished to see one of our men at dusk 
that evening wandering around in 'No Man's 
Land,' risking his life every minute. He 
appeared to be searching for something and we 
all thought it must be very valuable for him 
to take such chances to find it. 

“ Finally we saw him slip something into his 
pocket, and when he got back to us, the officer 
asked: 

"'What were you doing out there? Don't 
you know you might have been killed at any 
minute if the enemy had opened fire on you? 
It is a good thing for you that they are short of 
ammunition and do not want to waste it.' 

"'I knew it was dangerous, Captain,' re¬ 
plied the man, 'but during the attack I lost a 
pipe which I received only yesterday from a 
little boy, so I just went out to look for it.'" 

"Undoubtedly, the attitude of the children 
meant much to us," added Jean Michel. 
"When we are up at the front we think of the 
children who stand behind us. After all, we 
soldiers are gardeners. We renew the soil 
with our blood, that the new plants, the young 


122 Little Heroes of France 

children of France, may find nourishment. 
When we feel discouraged we look back to see 
the boys and girls growing into straight, fine 
men and good, clean women, that vision makes 
our sacrifice seem worth while.” 

“Do you ever meet any children quite near 
the front?” asked Pierre. 

“Yes, indeed. Many of them live close 
to the firing line. They are not too unhappy, 
except the little ones who are in the villages 
that have been captured by the Germans and 
are under the rule of the enemy. They have 
quite a hard time.” 

“Do they let the Germans see that they are 
afraid of them?” questioned Pierre. “I would 
not notice them. If any German tried to hurt 
me I would get a big stick and fight him.” 

“I have never heard of any of them being 
afraid,” answered the soldier. “In fact, some 
of our children were too daring. I heard a 
tale that amused me in one of the villages 
which we recaptured from the Germans. A 
boy of fourteen was detailed to wait on the 
German officer's mess. He carried out his 
task as well as he could because he wanted to 
show the enemy that the French knew how to 
do things properly. For that reason he not 


Baby Pierre 123 

only saw that the table was carefully laid, but 
he even superintended the food prepared for 
the officers by one of the women of the village 
who had been pressed into their service. If 
it did not look good to him, he would refuse to 
carry it to the table until the cook changed it 
and it seemed to him to be quite all right. In 
spite of all the trouble he took, the officers 
were always grumbling, and finding fault un¬ 
necessarily. 

“One day, as he was passing from the kitchen 
to the mess room where the officers were 
sitting at table, a shell from the French guns 
struck the ground near by, shaking the house 
so that some small pieces of plaster fell from 
the ceiling into the dish of steaming potatoes 
he was carrying. The officers were quick to 
notice the plaster, one of them shouting to 
him: 

“‘Take that dish away at once. That food 
is only fit for pigs. Give it to them/ 

“The lad hesitated a moment. Then he 
answered, ‘Am I to understand, Herr Cap¬ 
tain, that you wish me to give the potatoes to 
your men?’ 

“It was lucky for him that he was dealing 
with a band of fairly good-tempered officers, 


124 Little Heroes of France 

otherwise he might have been severely pun¬ 
ished for daring to suggest that the German 
soldiers were pigs. The German captain only 
cuffed him and told him not to be imperti¬ 
nent.” 

The soldier sitting next to Jean commenced 
to chuckle. 

“I heard a very similar story in just the 
same way,” he said. 

“A German officer and ten soldiers were 
billeted in a farmhouse. In self-defence the 
farmer, his wife, and little son did their best 
to look after them. It was to their interest 
to see that their unwelcome guests were kept 
as good-natured as possible. 

“There was one sergeant, however, who was 
never satisfied no matter what they gave him 
to eat. After one meal he called loudly for 
Confekt (Jam). The boy who was serving 
did not know what he wanted. He brought 
him the dessert his mother had prepared, but 
the sergeant pushed it on one side, and con¬ 
tinued to shout for ‘confekt.’ He behaved like 
a naughty, spoiled child, thumped his fist on 
the table, and ended, finally, by boxing the 
boy’s ears. 

“The lad did not mind his anger, but his 


Baby Pierre 125 

pride arose against being struck. He knew 
that he had done his best, so he went straight 
to the officer in command who was sitting in a 
room alone and complained of the way the 
man had treated him. 

a The German captain who had a child of his 
own about the boy's age and realized that 
the people were doing all they could for him 
and for his men, got up from his chair and 
went out to interview the sergeant. He found 
him red in the face with anger, still yelling 
for c confekt.' As soon as he saw the officer, he 
rose to salute. The captain looked at him, 
lifted his boot, and gave him two good kicks 
which landed him out in the street. 

“The boy started to laugh. Turning to the 
captain, he said, 4 1 did not know what he 
wanted. If I had understood that was the 
kind of “confekt” he wished, I should have 
been only too glad to give it to him my¬ 
self.” 

“The captain smiled and warned him to be 
careful. It was all right for him to kick a 
German soldier, but it would have been a 
serious matter for a French child to try to do 
it.” 

For Pierre and his adopted father the weeks 


126 Little Heroes of France 

passed all too quickly. The soldier was 
gradually restored to perfect health and the 
doctors were obliged to report to the military 
authorities that Jacques Morot was fit for 
service. He had not shirked; on the con¬ 
trary, he had asked many times whether he 
was not well enough to rejoin his comrades, 
but the doctors would not allow him to leave 
the hospital until they were quite sure he 
could stand the hard life in the trenches. 

When at last they told him he was strong 
enough to fight again, he was at the same time 
happy and sad. Glad to be once more face 
to face with the enemy, but sorry to leave the 
child he loved although he knew the baby 
would receive every care. 

“You will not spoil Pierre too much, doc¬ 
tor,” he said. “Please remember he is to be 
a poor man's son and that some day he will 
have to work hard.” 

“I work hard now,” answered Pierre. 
“This morning I washed my woolly lamb 
which I got at Christmas, and I helped cook 
clean out a pot.” 

“Yes, I saw you, greedy one,” said the doc¬ 
tor. “You were scraping the sweet sauce out 
of the pan and licking the spoon.” Then, 


Baby Pierre 127 

turning to the soldier, she added, “You need 
not fear. We shall be good to Pierre and, 
at the same time, we shall try to make a real 
man of him so that you may always be proud 
of him. ,, 

When the day of separation arrived, Pierre 
was inconsolable. He hung around his 
foster father's neck, and refused to be com¬ 
forted by any one. At last the man said to 
him: 

“Pierre, you should be with the civilians— 
you are not brave enough to be with soldiers. 
A soldier does not cry. He just salutes when 
he receives an order which is hard to obey, 
then he carries it out. You are a soldier's 
son. You must behave like one." 

“I do not believe that a soldier never cries. 
I have seen tears in their eyes when they 
looked at me, yet I had done nothing to hurt 
them,” answered Pierre. 

“That was because they were thinking of 
their own children," replied Jacques, “but they 
never do it when they are in service." 

Pierre straightened his little back and bit 
his lip to keep back the tears. He managed 
to conjure up a smile when he waved his 
handkerchief to his father as he drove away to 


128 Little Heroes of France 

report for duty. The girls did their best to 
cheer the child up, while the men were, as be¬ 
fore, his devoted slaves. Yet each morning he 
asked for his father. He would shout and 
jump for joy when the doctor called him into 
her room to read him a letter from Jacques. 
He, in turn, sent loving greetings and many 
promises of good behaviour whenever one of 
the girls was writing to Jacques. At the end 
of six months M. Morot came back on leave. 
The child was delighted to be with him again 
and they spent many happy hours playing 
together. 

An officer, visiting the hospital, heard the 
tale of the love and devotion Jacques had 
shown the child he had found, and was so 
much impressed by it that when he was next 
on leave he told it at the dinner table of one of 
his friends, a splendid woman who was de¬ 
voting her life to helping the refugees from 
the devastated regions of France. 

The officer remarked that his hostess ap¬ 
peared more than usually interested. 

“Where did you say the boy was found?” 

“Near Soissons, Madame.” 

“And his age?” 

“About five years.” 


129 


Baby Pierre 

“Did he speak of his parents?” 

“Only of his mother; he does not appear to 
remember his real father, but he is perfectly 
devoted to the man who rescued him and who 
has adopted him.” 

“Did the hospital authorities keep the 
clothes which he wore when he was brought 
in?” 

“Yes. They still have them although they 
are stained and in rags. The lad was found 
in a blue checked suit and a warm red jacket.” 

“Oh! you cannot imagine the joy you are 
giving me. I have in my employ, as sewing 
maid, a woman with a tragic history. She 
was brought to my hospital for refugees, suf¬ 
fering from brain fever. It was nearly four 
months before she recovered sufficiently from 
the shock she had received to tell us a con¬ 
nected story. When she was well enough she 
told us that, flying before the invaders, she 
had lost her son. She had placed him on top 
of some bundles and he must have fallen from 
the cart which she was dragging behind her. 
Terrified by the shells that were falling near, 
she had tried to push forward until she had 
fallen fainting and exhausted by the roadside. 
She was found and brought in to us. In her 


130 Little Heroes of France 

delirium she talked always of her baby, and 
we knew the child must have existed because 
there were toys among her few belongings 
which we saved. We made all possible in¬ 
quiries but could not discover that any child 
had been found near her. 

“During the period of her convalescence I 
devoted a great deal of time to her case myself. 
I went with her to every home for refugees in or 
near Paris to which the child might have been 
taken. The police, also, made inquiries for 
us, but I see now where we blundered—I never 
thought of asking for information from the 
military authorities, nor of going to any of 
the hospitals near the place where the child 
had been lost. It seems almost too good to be 
true, but I believe you have found him. Still, 
there might have been other children who 
were lost at the same time, who might have 
been dressed in the same kind of clothing and 
even called ‘Pierre.’ Before I tell Louise your 
story, I will call her down and ask her to 
describe her boy to you. The child cannot 
have changed very much in eighteen months; 
perhaps you will be able to identify him.” 

Louise was sent for to come to the dining 
room, and with tears in her eyes, she talked 


Baby Pierre 131 

of her little Pierre, his sunny hair, his blue 
eyes, his cunning ways. 

“Stop,” said the young officer, while his 
hostess, realizing that he recognized the child, 
stepped forward, and put her arm around 
Louise for fear she might collapse when the 
good news was told her. “I have found the 
boy. He is well and happy at the Abbaye de 
Royaumont in the Scottish Women’s Hos¬ 
pital.” 

If it had been possible, the mother would 
have left that night for Royaumont. The officer 
agreed to see the military authorities and get 
permission for her to go out next day and 
promised to accompany her to the hospital. 

It was late in the afternoon when Madame 
Deslandes arrived at the old Abbaye. The 
administrators and the doctors, who had been 
told of her coming by telephone, were waiting 
to receive her. They were not long in es¬ 
tablishing proof that Pierre was her boy. 
Madame Deslandes was able to give a de¬ 
scription of his clothing when lost, and told 
them of the place near which she believed 
he must have dropped from the cart. 

All the members of the hospital staff who 
were off duty were anxious to see whether the 


132 Little Heroes of France 

boy would remember his mother after the long 
separation. He was sleeping with both arms 
tightly clasped around his woollen lamb, when 
his mother approached on tip-toe, giving a cry 
of joy as she clutched tightly with her hands 
the rail at the foot of the bed to keep from 
falling. The happiness of finding him was 
almost too much for her to bear after the long 
months of agony and, finally, of resignation, 
when she thought him dead. One of the 
nurses put a chair for her by the bedside, but 
the mother did not seem to see it. She sank 
on her knees, and, slipping both hands be¬ 
neath him, she gently drew the sleeping child 
into her arms, began tenderly to rock him 
to and fro, to kiss him, to whisper, “My son, 
my little son, my baby Pierre. I am here with 
you. Your mother—look at me, tiny dear 
one—you must remember me.” 

The kisses woke him. His large baby eyes 
opened slowly. He realized that he was in the 
arms of someone he had missed, someone with 
strong yet gentle hands who in the old days 
had lifted him every morning from his bed, 
washed him, fed him, worked day and night 
for him, cuddled him, and sung to him until he 
drifted away into the fairyland of dreams. 


Baby Pierre 133 

The tears rolled down his mother's cheeks, and 
little Pierre patted her face. 

“Don't cry, mother. Laugh," he said. 
“Smile at me. I am your little Pierre and 
father says I must be like the soldiers, and 
soldiers do not cry." 

His mother did not appear to listen, but 
continued to hold him to her heart, her cheek 
against his, murmuring always, “ Pierre, my lit¬ 
tle child, my little son, my dearest loved one." 

At last she said, “ I am not a soldier like you, 
Pierre, so you must not mind if I cry—I never 
thought I would have you in my arms again, 
yet to-day I have found you." 

“Yes, mother, and I am strong and well. 
Feel my arms. I can fight, and father has 
shown me how to ride a pony." 

“Father!" cried his mother. “Your father 
is dead, little man." 

“But I have found a new father all my 
own," said Pierre. 

The nurses told Madame Deslandes how 
the child had been saved and of the devotion 
the soldier had shown him and of the permis¬ 
sion he had obtained to adopt Pierre. They 
promised to write to Jacques to tell him that 
the child's mother had found him, knowing, of 


134 Little Heroes of France 

course, how bitter a blow it would be for the 
man. 

Madame Deslandes arranged with the hos¬ 
pital staff to keep the child until she could 
settle in a home. Some three months later she 
was able to return to her own village, where she 
found that her cottage had not been destroyed. 

She corresponded regularly with Jacques 
Morot, and sent him news of Pierre and 
invited him to come to see him whenever he 
could. Unfortunately, Jacques was wounded 
again so that a long time elapsed before he 
could visit Pierre and his mother. The 
hospital in which he received treatment was 
in the south of France. Had it been anywhere 
near, Madame Deslandes would have taken 
the boy to see him. When he was well 
enough he came to pass his time of convales¬ 
cence near Pierre. The boy welcomed him 
with hugs and kisses. Madame Deslandes 
was at first shy with the strange man who yet 
seemed her dearest friend because of Pierre’s 
love for him. Soon she learned to appreciate 
the fineness of his character and before he 
left again for the front they went together to 
Royaumont to tell the doctors and the nurses 
that they had settled the problem of dividing 


135 


Baby Pierre 

Pierre’s affection. Madame Deslandes had 
married Jacques Morot, so that, holding the 
hands of the man who was now really his father 
and of his dearly loved mother, the hospital 
staff last saw the little lad toddling away down 
the road to happiness. 


GUSTAVE DARET 



“The French soldiers let loose a mighty cheer as Gustave and his 
burden came near enough to the trenches for them to stretch out 
their arms and draw him and the captain down to safety ” 
































GUSTAVE DARET 


P IERRE DESLANDES was not the 
only spoiled child in the Scottish 
Women's Hospital at the Abbaye de 
Royaumont. 

Gustave Daret who had been wounded in 
Flanders was under treatment there. Al¬ 
though only seventeen years old, he had 
already served for a year on the front. 

A tall, dark stripling, he looked much older 
than he really was while the hardships of life 
in the trenches had already left their marks on 
his face. 

As soon as the war broke out, Gustave 
begged his mother to allow him to join the 
army. She refused for some time on account 
of his youth. He was the last of her boys, her 
baby son, but, like all the women of France, she 
felt in her heart of hearts that she had no right 
to withhold him from helping to defend his coun¬ 
try, so that when he asked her again to permit 
him to try to enlist as a volunteer, she said, 
139 


140 Little Heroes of France 

“Son, day and night I will be anxious until 
you come back. I shall know no peace of 
mind while you are away. But if you think it 
is your duty, go to the recruiting officer and 
see if he will take you. If the doctor passes 
you as fit for the hardships ahead of you, I 
will not offer any opposition to your joining.” 

Gustave, delighted that he had won his 
mother over to his way of thinking, went that 
same day to offer himself for service and was 
accepted. 

The recruiting officer made one condition. 
“You tell me you have your mother’s per¬ 
mission, but before you sign your engagement 
as a volunteer, I want you to consider for 
twenty-four hours whether you are doing the 
right thing. Remember, you are still quite 
young and you are the only support of your 
widowed mother. You must think of your 
duty to her as well as to your country. Go 
home, talk it over with her, and come back to 
me to-morrow when you have made your 
decision.” 

Gustave told his mother just what had 
happened. They sat hand in hand, all the 
mother’s longing to keep her son by her side 
fighting against her loyalty to France. 


Gustave Daret 


141 

At last, with tears in her eyes, she said to 
him, 

“Gustave, the shell that destroyed our home 
killed one of your brothers. Your other brother 
died on the front trying to save the life of his 
captain. I think I should not be considered 
unpatriotic if I tried to keep you with me to 
look after me in my old age. Would you 
be willing to stay, son?” 

Gustave hesitated a few minutes. He had 
already pictured himself in uniform marching 
forward with the troops to fight for his country. 
He looked at the tired, sad face of his mother, 
and answered, 

“I will stay with you, if you cannot bear to 
part with me. Perhaps, after all, it is my duty 
to remain behind the lines to care for you.” 

His mother placed her hand under his chin, 
lifted his head, and looking straight into his 
eyes, said, 

“Thank you, Gustave. Now I am content. 
I never meant to keep you. It is true I need 
you, but there is an even greater mother 
calling you, Mother France. Do your duty as 
a soldier and if Providence protects you, later 
on you can do your duty as a son.” 

Next day they went together to the recruit- 


142 Little Heroes of France 

ing officer, and within a week Gustave re¬ 
ceived orders to leave with the men who were 
going into training. The villagers promised 
to look after his mother, and see that she did 
not lack care or affection. 

Three months later he came back on leave, 
very anxious to show himself in uniform to his 
mother and to the kindly neighbours. 

“I have been allowed seven days to spend 
with you, because we are short of men and our 
regiment has been ordered to the front. My 
captain, therefore, gave me permission to 
come to see you to say good-bye before we go 
forward.” 

“But you are not properly trained. I did 
not expect you to be in the trenches for some 
time yet.” 

“Not properly trained! You wait and 
see!” exclaimed Gustave. “I will fight 
so well that you will be proud of your 
boy.” 

“I am not afraid that you will disgrace me. 
I only fear you may not know how to protect 
yourself against the peril at the front.” 

“We have been well drilled by men who 
have been through it already. I know just 
what is before me,” answered Gustave. 


Gustave Daret 


143 


“You will be careful, won*t you, son ? ” 

“Yes, indeed, mother, I can’t promise you 
I will not avoid danger, but I shall not take 
unnecessary risks. Now, I want you to 
promise me one thing: if I am wounded come 
to me at once.” 

His mother nodded her head—she dared 
not speak for she felt she might lose con¬ 
trol of herself and cry. She remembered 
that he had often been at the railway station 
when other mothers and wives and sisters 
were saying good-bye to their men. She had 
seen them laughing, waving their handker¬ 
chiefs, singing, throwing flowers and choco¬ 
lates to the soldiers, and showing no signs of 
grief. But as soon as the train pulled out of 
the station their hands had dropped to their 
sides, their courage had left them, and turning 
to each other for comfort, they had said, 
“Now they are gone and cannot see us, we 
can weep.” 

Knowing that she, too, must send her son 
away with a smile Madame Daret, to hide her 
emotion, went into her kitchen and busied her¬ 
self preparing some food for him. 

The seven days passed all too quickly. 
When his leave expired, she accompanied 


144 Little Heroes of France 

Gustave to the train. Taking him in her 
arms, she kissed him tenderly and with a last 
admonition, “Fight well for France,” she 
turned and ran as if to escape from her own 
misery. 

Madame Daret received letters from 
Gustave fairly regularly. He wrote her of his 
days and nights in the trenches, of his growing 
admiration for his comrades. The life had 
been a little hard at first. The regiment 
christened him “The Baby” and seemed to 
dread that he might dishonour them when 
they got into action. However, he soon 
proved his courage, and the men as a whole 
had a fatherly feeling for the lad who had 
volunteered his services for France. 

Sometimes he would forget his promise to 
his mother not to seek danger unnecessarily. 
Between the German and French lines stood 
a scarecrow. One night late Gustave crept 
out from the trench, and tied a small French 
flag to the scarecrow’s arm. All day long it 
fluttered in the breeze, to the annoyance of the 
Germans in the opposite trenches. They 
would have shot it to bits, but they could not 
afford to waste ammunition. At night, in 
spite of the watch kept from the French lines, 


Gustave Daret 


145 

a German managed to sneak out and tear it 
down. 

When Gustave saw next morning that it was 
missing, he was furious. He waited until his 
regiment left the trenches for the village 
where they were billeted for a rest. He then 
bought a new flag, a reel of fine wire, and a 
small bell. 

Once more, under cover of darkness, he went 
out into “No Man’s Land.” The Germans 
who thought the incident closed were none 
too vigilant, so he was able to affix the flag 
to the scarecrow. He attached the wire to 
the flag, and ran it down through the scare¬ 
crow’s clothes to the ground. As he returned 
to his own trench, he unwound the reel, and on 
the end of the wire he placed the bell. 

At dawn the Germans were angry to see 
that the flag had been replaced and prepared 
to steal it again. They made no attempt for 
two nights, as they hoped to catch the French 
off guard. The third night, one of them, 
chosen by lot, crawled out of the trenches and 
wriggled slowly along the ground. There was 
no moon, and the man was careful to make no 
sound to warn the French; but as soon as he 
put his hand up and grasped the flag, the 


146 Little Heroes of France 

French opened fire, and forced him to scamper 
back to cover in his own lines. Time after 
time, selecting always nights when they 
thought they could not be seen, the Germans 
tried to get the flag. Finally, after two of 
them had been badly wounded in the attempt, 
they abandoned all hope of capturing it. 
They could not understand how it was the 
French always knew when they touched it, 
and started to shoot at them. They did not 
know that each time they pulled the flag 
they dragged the wire, thus ringing the small 
bell hanging on the end of it which Gustave 
had attached to a stick thrust into the side of 
his trench. 

The flag remained unfurled, while the 
enemy felt that they were being continually 
flouted and laughed at by the French soldiers. 

This daring feat made Gustave even more 
popular with the regiment, but when he wrote 
in great glee to tell his mother of the episode, 
she sent him a letter scolding him, and re¬ 
minding him of his promise not to shirk in an 
attack, but at the same time not to give his 
life for the pleasure of annoying the Germans 
or amusing his comrades. 

For more than three weeks she received no 


Gustave Daret 


147 

news from him. Anxiously she passed among 
her neighbours, who tried to console her by 
pointing out the difficulties of delivering mail 
from the front. Yet they all felt that some¬ 
thing must have happened to Gustave as he 
had been such a faithful correspondent, know¬ 
ing how much his mother worried for his 
safety. At last a letter came for her in a 
strange handwriting. She kept it in her 
hand for some time afraid to open it. When 
she felt she had the courage, she unsealed the 
envelope, and found that it was from the 
administrator of the Scottish Women's Hos¬ 
pital at the Abbaye de Royaumont. The 
administrator told her that Gustave had 
been brought in severely wounded, had been 
operated on, but was now well enough to have 
visitors. The letter assured her that her son 
was gaining ground daily and asked her to 
come to see him as soon as she could. She did 
not wait to consult her friends or she might 
have found out that the French Government 
would have been glad to give her free trans¬ 
portation to the nearest point to the hospital. 
She left at once on foot, begging shelter at 
night as she passed through the villages. 
The hospital was only forty miles away, but 


148 Little Heroes of France 

it was a long walk for an old woman, and she 
was tired and weary, though unbroken in 
spirit, by the time she reached Royaumont. 
The nurses wanted to give her food before she 
saw her son, but she demanded to be taken to 
him immediately. It was only when she 
heard that his wounds were being dressed that 
she consented to drink a cup of coffee. The 
nurses told her that she need not fear for him 
for he would certainly recover, and they 
laughed as they told her some of his antics 
while in the hospital. 

Only the day before he had managed to 
arrange a race between the one-legged men, 
who hopped around on their crutches, while he 
sat up in his bed to judge the competition. 
He was severely reprimanded by his tall 
Scotch nurse for some of the men were really 
not strong enough to be playing that way. 
Next day, when he was allowed to get out of 
bed, Gustave followed the nurse, trailing a 
chair behind him. When he had the oppor¬ 
tunity, he climbed on the chair, and put his 
arms around the nurse’s neck while he asked 
forgiveness. 

“Nurse Margaret is so tall, it was the only 
way I could reach her,” he explained, as he 


Gustave Daret 


149 

was ordered to get under his blankets for fear 
he should overtax his strength. It was im¬ 
possible not to forgive him for his pranks. 
The nurses were willing to make him many 
concessions—after all, it is hard always to 
behave like a man when you are only seven¬ 
teen years old. 

His mother beamed with pleasure to think 
that he was so much liked, but all the time the 
members of the staff were talking to her she 
sat with her eyes fixed on the door waiting for 
it to open and hoping for the permission to be 
given her to go to her son. 

At last one of the doctors came in and told 
her the lad was ready to see her. She was so 
blinded by her tears that one of the assistants 
had to take her by the hand, and lead her to 
Gustave's bedside. He had passed his time in 
the hospital informing the other men what he 
would do to the enemy, the tricks he would 
play on them, the trenches he would capture, 
when he was well again; but as soon as he saw 
his mother, he forgot that he was a blood¬ 
thirsty warrior, and, lying quietly in her arms, 
stroking her face—the soldier disappeared, 
leaving only the son. 

The wounded men crept gently into corners 


150 Little Heroes of France 

and watched the reunion of the mother and her 
boy. Some of them slipped away to call 
their comrades from the other wards. The 
lad had talked so much of his mother, they 
all wanted to see her. They rolled their 
cigarettes in silence, anxious that no sound 
should make her feel that any one was watch¬ 
ing. The sun was setting, but one beam of 
light from the stained-glass windows lingered 
on the boy’s bed as if it hated to vanish and let 
darkness hide the lovelight in his eyes. 

When the ward was dim, the nurses told 
Madame Daret she must leave, but before she 
went to the room which had been prepared for 
her, the head doctor sent word that she wished 
to see her. The mother feared there might be 
bad news for her but she was comforted when 
she saw the doctor’s smiling face. 

“In the usual way,” said Dr. Ivens, “we 
should not allow you to visit your boy again 
to-morrow because the excitement of being 
with you might tire him too much, and prevent 
his progress toward complete recovery. But 
there is a surprise in store for him and I know 
his happiness would be spoiled if you were not 
present. We have received word that one of 
the French generals is coming to decorate 


Gustave Daret 


I5i 

some of the soldiers and your son is to receive 
a medal for his courage in saving the life of his 
officer.” 

“Please tell me about it!” cried his mother. 

“I could tell you the tale if I wished,” 
answered the doctor, “but it is much better 
you should hear it to-morrow when his citation 
is read out before his comrades.” 

All was bustle and excitement early next 
morning during the preparations for the recep¬ 
tion of the General and his staff. Gustave and 
his comrades who were to receive medals were 
moved carefully into the largest ward, while 
all the men who were well enough were allowed 
to gather around. 

A chair was placed beside Gustave for 
Madame Daret. He was too agitated to 
speak much; all he could do was to lie still 
and press his mother's hand. 

“I cannot think why I should receive a 
medal, mother,” he said. “I did not do more 
than any one else. Really, I shall be ashamed 
to wear it, since all my chums deserve it as 
much as I do.” 

The general arrived at ten o’clock. As he 
passed through the wards and corridors of 
the hospital he addressed a kindly word of 


152 Little Heroes of France 

encouragement or sympathy to each of the 
men. 

Gustave was the last to be decorated. He 
sat up in his bed, his mother supporting him 
with her arm. The general pinned the Mili¬ 
tary Medal on his breast, then turning to the 
soldiers, said: 

“My men, I have not yet read aloud the 
citation of Gustave Daret. Naturally, when 
a soldier is mentioned in the orders of the day, 
only a brief reference can be made to what he 
has actually done. I am glad to have an 
opportunity of telling you more about this 
boy, who of his own free will, with the per¬ 
mission of his patriotic mother, joined the 
army two years before he would have been 
called to the colours. 

“He showed such eagerness to learn and 
trained so quickly that within three months 
he was considered fit to take his place beside 
you in the trenches. I wonder how many of 
you have heard of his remark to a comrade a 
short time after they had taken part in an 
attack. For days they had been cut off from 
the world, so that they were overjoyed, when 
they returned behind the lines to rest, to find 
heaps of letters and parcels waiting for them. 


Gustave Daret 


153 

One of the men, who always had packets of 
good things to eat from his family, seized the 
bundle addressed to him and tore it open. 
His face was a study when he saw the con¬ 
tents. By mistake his mother had sent him a 
parcel which was intended for a home for old 
ladies, and it contained nothing but knitting 
needles and white cotton nightcaps. The 
soldier commenced to grumble, but Gustave, 
who was standing near, patted him on the 
shoulder and said: 

“ T can't see why you are making such a fuss. 
That is a most useful present.' 

“‘Useful!' replied the soldier. ‘What can 
I do with knitting needles and nightcaps?' 

“‘Why, man,' answered Gustave, ‘you were 
complaining only the other day in the trench, 
that you had nothing on which to hang up your 
things. You can stick the knitting needles in 
the soft sides of the trench and put anything 
you like on them. As for the cotton nightcaps, 
you will be the most popular man in the regi¬ 
ment—we haven't seen a coffee strainer for 
months and months and months!'" 

All the soldiers laughed, while the general 
added, “I have just told you that tale so that 
you might know that Gustave always made 


154 Little Heroes of France 

the best of things, and refused to shoulder un¬ 
necessary trouble. It is not for his cheerful 
spirit, however, that I am here to decorate 
him. A child at heart, he has shown the 
bravery of a man. On the 29th of March the 
Germans attacked, their advance covered by a 
heavy barrage from their guns. The French 
officer, realizing that his men would be killed 
by the shells if they remained in their trenches, 
ordered a counter-attack. The enemy was 
forced to retire, but kept up a constant firing 
with their rifles. When the French got back 
to their own trenches, the captain was lying 
face down in ‘No Man’s Land.’ He had been 
shot in the shoulder and the leg while following 
his men back to their lines. Although bleed¬ 
ing from wounds in his chest and his arm, Gus¬ 
tave sprang over the top of the trench. His 
comrades tried to pull him down, but he called 
to them: 

“‘I am going out for the captain. If he is 
dead, I mean to turn his body round. I know 
he would not rest unless he were lying face to 
the enemy. If he is living I am going to bring 
him in.’ 

“No one stopped him. 

“‘If you fail, Gustave/ they said, ‘one of us 


Gustave Daret 


155 

will go after you, to drag both of you to 
safety/ 

“Though every movement pained him, and 
bullets whistled near him, Gustave crawled 
over the rough ground until he reached the 
officer’s side. 

<<c You must be mad to come out here. Go 
back at once,’ commanded the captain. 

“Gustave paid no attention to this,but,drag¬ 
ging the captain along with his one good arm, 
he moved, inch by inch, back toward the 
French lines. 

“The French soldiers let loose a mighty 
cheer as Gustave came near enough to the 
trenches for them to stretch out their arms 
and draw him and the captain down to safety. 
The captain had fainted, but when he re¬ 
covered he reported the incident to the com¬ 
manding officer. 

“I think you will agree with me, my friends, 
that no one has a better right than this boy of 
seventeen to carry on his tunic the Military 
Medal of France. Let us hope he may live 
long to wear it.” 

The old Abbaye echoed and reechoed with 
the shouts of the men, as the general shook 
hands, first with Gustave, who was blushing 


156 Little Heroes of France 

and hiding his head on his mother’s shoulder, 
and then with Madame Daret. 

When the ceremony was over and the gen¬ 
eral had left, the men were all sent back to their 
beds, while Gustave and his mother sat talking 
together. 

One of the nurses passing by, not realizing 
the spirit of France, asked Madame Daret: 

“ Would you not be almost glad if Gustave 
had been so badly wounded that you could 
take him home with you and keep him there?” 

The old peasant woman’s face flushed with 
anger. 

“How can you say such a thing, Mademoi¬ 
selle? If all the mothers, wives, and sweet¬ 
hearts thought like you, who would defend the 
country? Gustave knows how proud I am of 
him, how much I love him, yet I have only 
one wish—he must get well as quickly as he can 
and return to the trenches to fight for France.” 


RENE CHAU TIER 



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RENE CHAUTIER 


T HE sheep could not wander far if they 
tried—if one of them strayed away any 
distance, the great shaggy dog would 
follow him and chase him back to the others. 
Besides, they seemed to think that it was wise 
to stay near the dark, brown-skinned boy who 
in the morning brought them out to graze and 
at night herded them into a place of safety. 
The litde shepherd understood the habits of his 
“children” as he called them, knowing that 
there was no harm in his sleeping a while, 
especially with his four-footed lieutenant, 
“Rough,” to keep watch should any of the 
sheep exhibit a sudden desire to explore some 
far-distant spot. He stretched himself on a 
bed of brilliantly coloured autumn leaves 
which he had gathered together, and with his 
head resting on his arms, looked out over the 
landscape. 

“Rough,” he said to his dog, “come here 
and lie by me. Look at the country spread out 


160 Little Heroes of France 

before us. I do not wonder that the men who 
have had to join the army were sorry to leave 
so beautiful a place, nor am I surprised that 
Sergeant Pirot said last night that ‘it was 
worth while fighting for such a fair land* If I 
were taller and older I should be a soldier, too.” 

Rough wagged his tail in answer, and, 
noticing a sheep rambling off in the wrong 
direction, rushed after him barking and nip¬ 
ping at his heels until he rejoined the others. 
When he came back to his little master, he 
found him sleeping peacefully, so he lay down 
beside him, on guard, until he awoke. 

Suddenly he pricked up his ears. Someone 
was approaching hastily yet stealthily through 
the little wood bordering the field. He 
crouched, ready to spring on the newcomer, 
but ran forward to greet him when he saw that 
it was only one of the boys whom he knew 
quite well. Rough licked his hands and 
jumped around him to show that he was quite 
friendly, for the lad seemed frightened and 
excited. He pushed the dog to one side, and 
shook Rene Chautier by the shoulders to 
awaken him. Chautier rubbed his eyes, then 
stretched his arms. 

“What is the hurry, stupid?” he said. 


Rene Chautier 161 

“ Didn’t you see I was enjoying myself? You 
have spoiled a wonderful dream. I thought 
I had ten pounds of chocolate and no one to 
share it with me. I had only commenced to 
eat the first pound when you woke me, so 
really you have stolen nine pounds of choco¬ 
late from me.” 

His chum did not laugh at the joke but 
stood terrified and panting. 

“Have you come to fetch me? Is there a 
fire in the village, or has something awful 
happened?” 

“Everyone has fled, there is not a soul left,” 
Jean managed to gasp as he regained breath 
after his long run. “The Germans are within 
two miles—they may arrive at any minute.” 

“Well, what if they do? I don’t see why 
the people have all rushed away. Has my 
master gone, too?” 

“Yes, indeed. Farmer Mazard was one 
of the first to fly with his two girls. Don’t you 
realize that the tales we have heard are true 
and that the enemy burn the villages through 
which they pass ? No one’s life is safe. Hurry 
up, Rene, call Rough, and come along. You 
haven’t a minute to lose. Mother would 
hardly give me permission to warn you, but 


i 62 


Little Heroes of France 

I told her I knew just where to find you and 
would not stop a moment. Pick up your stick, 
we can take a short cut and join all the others 
on the main road.” 

“It was good of you to come, Jean,” replied 
Rene. “Now get back to your mother as 
quickly as your legs will carry you. I must 
stay here. I can't leave these sheep.” 

“But the Germans will kill you when they 
see you.” 

“Oh, no, they won’t. They will not bother 
about me. They will only pillage the 
cottages, perhaps set fire to them, and then 
pass on to capture the next village. Luckily, 
I have some bread and I can get water from 
the brook, so I can sleep up here to-night 
where no one will find me.” 

“Please come on. Don’t stay hehind,” 
pleaded Jean. 

“You are just losing time trying to argue 
with me. But take Rough with you—he 
may bark and let them know where I am,” 
answered Rene. 

Rough refused to follow Jean so Rene cut 
a piece of the rope which he always carried in 
case any of the sheep should prove trouble¬ 
some, and tying it to the dog’s collar, handed 


Rene Chautier 163 

the other end to his friend. Rough, realizing 
that his master wished him to go, allowed 
Jean to lead him away, although he looked 
back often, pleading with his eyes to be per¬ 
mitted to stay. 

Rene felt very lonely without his dog. 
Perhaps he was not quite so brave as he had 
tried to make Jean believe. For a time he 
felt inclined to take to his heels and follow his 
friends, but he kept on repeating to himself, 
“ My master gave the sheep into my care. He 
has taken his girls away leaving me in charge 
of his property—my duty is to remain where 
I am. Here I must stay.” 

He was wrong when he thought that the 
enemy would be too busily occupied to discover 
him. They had been advancing rapidly. For 
several days they had been out of touch with 
their provision base and they were feeding 
themselves on anything they could find in the 
deserted villages. A party of men was de¬ 
tailed to scour the country, and round up all the 
cattle and sheep they could find for the use of 
the invading army. It was not long before 
they detected Rene. 

“Are those sheep yours?” one of them 
asked. 


164 Little Heroes of France 

“No,” replied Rene, “I am only the 
shepherd. They belong to Farmer Mazard.” 

“You must let us have them. We will give 
you a paper saying that they have been 
requisitioned, and when the foolish French 
have stopped fighting and have recognized 
us as the rulers of France, your master can 
take the paper and in exchange receive pay¬ 
ment for the animals in good German money.” 

“You will never conquer France and I have 
no confidence in your promises,” said Rene. 
“Besides, I can’t sell the sheep. They do not 
belong to me.” 

“Don’t talk so much. Remember you are 
dealing with hungry men. We have already 
been too patient with you,” answered the 
soldier. “Sell us the sheep—besides the note 
for your master, I promise you a golden louis 
for yourself. I bet you have never had as 
much money as that in your life. Now come 
along, don’t be stupid. Help us to drive the 
animals to our camp.” 

“I won’t sell them. I won’t do anything 
you wish,” shouted Rene, lifting his stick as he 
prepared to fight in defence of his flock. The 
angry soldiers sprang upon the child, bound 
him to a tree, and beat him with their rifles 


Rene Chautier 165 

until he was insensible. One of them, less 
brutal than the rest, untied the cords. 

Just at that moment shots rang out from 
the village below. “Franzosen! Franzosen!” 
cried the sentinel they had placed at some 
distance to keep a look-out. Without further 
thought of the sheep, and leaving the child's 
body on the ground, they scampered away to 
join their comrades who were in retreat, the 
French having counter-attacked and recap¬ 
tured the village. 

Rene recovered consciousness late that 
night. His body ached all over and when he 
tried to rise, he found that his left leg was use¬ 
less. It had been broken by one of the blows 
that had been showered upon him. Weak 
from pain and hunger, his throat burning with 
thirst, he tried to drag himself toward the 
brook, but he had not gone many yards before 
he fainted. 

He would have died from exposure were it 
not that his faithful friend had not forgotten 
him. Rough had followed Jean meekly, watch¬ 
ing for a chance to escape. The boy's mother 
had asked him to help her pile up some pack¬ 
ages that had fallen from the handcart she was 
pushing before her. Jean tied Rough, as 


166 Little Heroes of France 

he thought, securely to a tree, but the dog, 
tugging at the cord, loosened it, and dashed 
away before any one could stop him. 

With the unerring instinct of animals he ran 
across country until he came to the side of his 
master. He howled dismally when the child 
refused to answer his bark of welcome. He 
licked his face with his warm tongue, and tried 
in his dog language to say, “ I am beside you, I, 
Rough, your dog. Notice me, pat me, speak 
to me.” Still the boy showed no signs of life. 

Down to the village went Rough. Most of 
the men were sleeping, but he caught hold of 
the end of the trousers’ leg of one of the sen¬ 
tinels, shaking it violently. The man kicked 
him to get rid of him, but in a few minutes 
Rough was back again barking, without mak¬ 
ing any attempt to bite him. 

“The poor beast is hungry,” said a soldier 
standing near who had been awakened by the 
noise. He tossed the dog a piece of meat and 
bread but Rough refused to touch it, and 
persisted in tugging at the man’s clothing. 

“Something funny about that dog,” con¬ 
tinued the soldier. “You know we use them 
up at the front for finding the wounded. I 
wonder if he wants to show us anything.” 


Rene Chautier 


167 

“I can’t leave my post,” replied the sentinel. 
“You are free. Go with him and see what he 
wants. If any one asks for you, I will tell 
them what you are doing.” 

Rough seemed to understand that he had 
found a friend. He trotted along in front, only 
looking back from time to time to be sure that 
the man was following him, until they reached 
the child’s body. The soldier bent down, 
flashed his torch in Rene’s face, felt that his 
heart was still beating, and lifting him in his 
arms, carried him back to the regimental 
surgeon. 

The soldiers were surprised because as soon 
as he saw the lad safe, the dog ran away al¬ 
though they tried to keep him with them. 
Next morning they found that he had returned 
to the field to gather the sheep together and 
had chased them back to the pen. One of 
the soldiers was detailed to watch them. It 
was only when he saw them properly guarded 
that Rough consented to leave them and join 
his young master. 

The doctor bathed the child’s bruises and 
put his leg in splints. When Rene came to, 
he found himself surrounded by people with 
kindly faces, everyone eager to do something 


168 Little Heroes of France 

to soothe his pain. The reaction was so great 
that he started to cry. His first question was, 

“Are my sheep safe?” 

“Yes,” answered the doctor. “Of course 
we do not know how many there should be in 
your flock but we believe they are all at the 
farm. After your dog had saved your life, he 
went back to complete his task by driving the 
sheep home.” 

“Good dog, dear Rough,” murmured Rene. 

Rough heard the beloved voice mention his 
name, and in spite of being tired out, got up 
from the floor where he was lying, placed his 
two paws on the bed, and bent his head for his 
little master to pat him. 

The regiment was only resting for a few 
hours, having orders to advance immediately, 
and next morning Rene was placed in one of 
the Red Cross ambulances to be sent behind 
the lines for treatment. Rough ran along¬ 
side until the ambulance driver, knowing his 
story, saw that he was lagging behind, and let 
him jump into the car, so that the dog and the 
boy arrived at the hospital together. 

Rene was thoroughly spoiled by all the 
nurses—they even allowed Rough to come in 
every day to see him. One morning he arrived 


Rene Chautier 


169 

in a state of great excitement. The nurses 
endeavoured to push him away, but he reached 
his master, and laid on his bed a small jack- 
rabbit which he had caught in the fields. Rene 
stroked him, saying, “If I were up and well, I 
would boil the rabbit and you would have all 
the bones to pick. You do not know, nurse,” 
he added, turning to the girl who was stand¬ 
ing beside him, a how well I can cook. At 
night when the sheep were all safely back at 
the farm I often cooked the supper for the 
family. The farmer’s two daughters taught me 
how to do it and were always pleased to see me 
in the kitchen. They worked so hard that they 
were glad for a chance to rest after the day’s 
labours, while, just between ourselves, I 
spent most of my time in the fields asleep, 
Rough watching the flock for me. It did not 
hurt me to do a little work at night.” 

“ I am sure you are quite a chef. When you 
are well enough you shall go into the hospital 
kitchen and show us what you can do, 
answered the nurse. 

As soon as Rene was permitted to move 
around, he reminded the nurse of her promise. 
He was allowed to pass a short time each day 
in the kitchen, where he surprised the staff 


170 Little Heroes of France 

with his knowledge of cooking. The work 
was new to him. Before, he had only pre¬ 
pared the food for the family and the farm 
labourers, but he was not long in learning to 
cook for the two hundred patients and the 
staff of the hospital. 

During his illness and convalescence the 
men of the regiment who had saved him, 
wrote him regularly, while he sent them news 
of his progress. The regiment, having taken 
part in a number of important engagements, 
at the time Rene was well enough to leave the 
hospital, had been sent behind the lines to 
rest and be reequipped at a village not far 
from the hospital. Rene obtained permission 
to go to thank them for all they had done for 
him. The nurses packed his knapsack full of 
new clothes and food, so that he started out in 
good spirits, Rough following at his heels. 

The men were delighted to see him and 
had prepared quite a feast of welcome. They 
had even put a large meaty bone on one side 
for Rough for they knew that the boy would 
not come alone. They had many tales to tell 
him of their adventures, while Rene boasted 
of his prowess as a cook. To amuse him, the 
men permitted him to cook for them. There 


Rene Chautier 


171 

was no prouder boy in France than Rene 
working in the white cap and apron which his 
soldier friends had given him. 

The days passed all too quickly. The men 
knew that at any time they might be ordered 
again to the front. As the child passed among 
them they watched him with their eyes— 
they all hated the idea of leaving him behind. 

Finally, a deputation of the men waited on 
one of the officers, asking him to intercede 
with the colonel and get permission for Rene 
Chautier to go forward with them. The 
captain pleaded with the colonel who abso¬ 
lutely refused to entertain the idea. 

“What should we do with the lad?” he 
said. “He would only be a useless mouth to 
feed and get into mischief.” 

“He would not be useless,” answered the 
captain. “He is a splendid cook and has 
been helping the men all the time he has been 
here with us.” 

“But his people would not wish him to go 
into danger.” 

“He has no relatives. His father and 
mother died when he was a baby. For years 
he has been earning his keep by working as a 
shepherd for one of the farmers near here.” 


172 Little Heroes of France 

“I quite believe he is a good lad/’ replied 
the colonel, “but I have no right to accept the 
services of a boy—there are no children with 
the French Army.” 

“You are wrong, colonel. Numbers of 
children have not only marched with the 
regiments, but have actually taken part in the 
fighting,” answered the captain. 

“Bring me proofs of boys as young, or 
younger, than this lad, having been accepted 
by other regiments and I will give him 
permission to stay,” said the colonel. “Mean¬ 
time, he may remain here, but he must under¬ 
stand that he is to go when I issue the order.” 

The captain set to work to gather the 
necessary information. Four days later he 
came before his commanding officer, a large 
bundle of notes in his hand. 

“Here are the facts for which you asked, 
colonel. Everyone of the tales is authentic.” 

“Read them out to me,” replied the colonel, 
as he settled back in his chair to listen. 

“ I will commence with some of the youngest: 

“Marcel Vermier was born in Montbeliard. He 
followed one of the regiments and fought in the 
Vosges. He was always to be found where the danger 
was greatest and was wounded finally at La Bassee when 


Rene Chautier 


173 

he was helping to carry ammunition up to one of the 
batteries. His conduct on the field of battle caused 
him to be named corporal at the age of thirteen and a 
half. 

“Only fourteen years old Louis Arboud managed to 
save 13 men who were lying wounded under enemy fire. 
He was attached to the 3rd Infantry. 

“Another boy of fourteen, Ferdinand Colm , was 
found in a deserted village dying of hunger, by the 
92nd Territorials. The regiment adopted him and he 
is still with them. 

“ Albert Schuffrenkes was also only fourteen years old 
when he managed to capture four horses belonging to 
the Germans, and bring them to the French camp. 
At that time France was very short of horses, so that he 
received many congratulations on his courage and was 
adopted by one of the regiments.’' 

“Maurice Claude of Domevre, fifteen years old, was 
wounded. The hospital in which he was lying was 
captured by the Germans. The German colonel 
while on a tour of inspection stood by the lad’s bedside, 
asking, ‘How are you to-day, my boy? Is your wound 
less painful?’ The lad was dying, but opening his 
eyes, and seeing the pointed helmet and knowing that 
he was in the presence of the enemy, answered proudly, 

“ T am not in pain at all. One does not suffer when 
one dies for one’s country. Long live France!’ 

“The German colonel turned to his aide, saying, 
“ ‘ We shall never subdue a people which produces such 
children.’ 

“Jean Chotin , aged fifteen, already has the Military 


174 Little Heroes of France 

Medal. He managed to attach himself to the 92nd 
Infantry as they were passing through his village. He 
carried out a plan which he had evolved out of his own 
head, capturing two Germans from whom the com¬ 
manding French officer was able to extract information 
which made the attack next day a complete success. 

“Joseph Lanzonne was a little older. He enlisted 
without confessing that he was only sixteen years old. 
At Montfaucon (Meuse) he distinguished himself by 
saving his captain from falling into the hands of the 
enemy and carrying him over a kilometre under fire to 
safety. He was named corporal and would certainly 
have soon been a sergeant had it not been that his par¬ 
ents discovered his whereabouts, and to his great disgust 
insisted on his returning home. 

“ Jean Mercadier enlisted when he was sixteen and a 
half years old in the 59th Infantry as it passed by 
Adamville. He found that the regiment was to remain 
garrisoned for some time in a fort behind the lines, so he 
arranged to be transferred to the 2nd Heavy Artillery. 
One night when on guard he saw a party of Germans 
creep up behind an officer, preparing to capture him. 
He fired on them, and dashing forward gave the captain 
his bayonet, while with his clasp knife he fought the 
enemy hand to hand. He was wounded slightly, but 
reported next day for duty. He was again wounded 
and while in the hospital received the Military Medal 
for his courageous defence of his officer. He was 
raised to the rank of corporal. 

“Gustave Chatain was another child hero. Accom¬ 
panying one of the regiments, he spent a long time on the 


Rene Chautier 


175 

firing line. He loved to go out on scouting expeditions, 
and was always ready to volunteer for that kind of work. 
After an attack the Germans apparently evacuated a 
village. The French were anxious to find out whether 
the enemy had really gone before their troops were 
allowed to enter. They feared that possibly the with¬ 
drawal was only a trick to lure them into an ambush. 
Gustave was deputed to try to inspect the territory 
and report to the commanding officer. Cautiously he 
crept into the village which seemed deserted. One by 
one he entered the cottages and barns and looked into 
the cellars until he came to an old house. Up a ladder 
he climbed, and to his great surprise found several Ger¬ 
mans asleep on the straw in the loft. Taking one of the 
men’s own guns, he fired into the air. The Germans 
jumped up, and tried to reach their rifles, but Gustave 
covered them with his gun, threatening to shoot the 
first one who disobeyed his orders. They put up their 
hands, and, one by one, he made them go down the 
ladder, marching them back as prisoners to the French 
lines. After he had made his report to the general 
that he had captured the only Germans left in the 
village the order was given for the French troops to 
go forward. The general was so pleased with Gustave 
that he kept him to dine with him, and recommended 
him for a decoration.” 

“Stop,” said the colonel. “Go back to 
your men and tell them they have my per¬ 
mission to keep Rene with them. ,> 

There was great rejoicing among the soldiers 


176 Little Heroes of France 

when the captain told them that the colonel 
was willing to grant their request. Rene, 
himself, had to be reprimanded for making 
so much noise. He ran through the village 
shouting and jumping for joy, with Rough 
following, barking his loudest. Next day he 
asked whether he would be allowed to carry a 
gun. 

“No,” answered the captain. “You are 
too young. You must stick to your job as a 
cook. When we are at the front you shall be 
a stretcher-bearer, and help with the 
wounded.” 

“But how will the people in the villages we 
pass through know that I belong to the 
regiment?” 

“I will arrange that for you. You have 
quite a large head for a boy your size. I will 
give you one of my old caps with the number 
of your regiment embroidered on the front of 
it. Wear it above the cook's clothes you now 
have and everyone will say, ‘There goes the 
regimental cook, a most important person. 
No one can do without him.' ” 

Rene started work the next day. As a 
special favour he asked to be allowed to 
cook the colonel's dinner. After he had 


Rene Chautier 


177 

served up an excellent soup, a roast chicken, 
and a dish of apricots, the colonel sent for him. 

“You have shown us what a fine little chef 
you are. Now, come and drink coffee with 
us. I am glad I listened to the captain and 
did not send you away.” 

With his pots hanging around him, his 
white clothes nearly always a dark gray with 
dust, the lad marched with the soldiers. The 
men marvelled that he did not tire. Even 
after a fifteen- or twenty-mile walk, he was 
ready as soon as they stopped to set up his 
kitchen and start business. They always 
found him singing the songs he had learned 
from them as he scrubbed his pots free of 
dust and got the hot soup ready. He 
seemed to know by instinct the men who were 
most tired and fed them first. 

The night before they were to enter the 
danger zone the colonel sent for Rene, and 
told him that he had served the regiment 
well and that no one would think him a 
coward if he preferred to stay behind and 
wait for them to come out of the trenches. 

Rene was indignant. 

“Why, the men will need hot food more 
than ever when they are standing in the rain 


17 8 Little Heroes of France 

and slime for hours. A good soup will cheer 
them up,” he said. “Besides, the captain 
promised me that although I should not be 
allowed to fight, I would be enrolled as a 
stretcher-bearer. Please let me go.” 

“I have no intention of sending you away, 
Chautier,” replied the colonel, “but I wanted 
to feel that I had given you a chance to avoid 
risking your life. If you wish to remain with 
us through thick and thin, God bless you, boy, 
and bring you safely out of the attack.” 

The soldiers affixed a Red Cross armlet to 
his cook's uniform, and instructed Rene how 
to lift a wounded man into the stretcher and 
how to help carry it so as to jolt him as little 
as possible. He was told to report to the 
chaplain, and take his orders from him. 

During the attack one of the sergeants fell, 
struck in the shoulder. Without noticing the 
bullets whistling around him, Rene knelt by 
his side. With his cook’s knife he cut the 
braces holding the man’s equipment to his 
shoulders, ripped up his coat and shirt, dabbed 
his wound with iodine, and bandaged it as 
well as he could. 

It was too risky for them to try to move, so 
Rene said: 


Rene Chautier 


179 

“We had better stay here until dusk. I’ll 
stay with you, and if no one comes, I will 
sleep beside you.” 

Later the stretcher-bearers came and carried 
the man back to the dressing station. 

Rene was now free. He found the chaplain 
and offered to go out with him into “No 
Man’s Land” to look for the wounded. 
That night alone he helped bring in forty 
men. 

Cook behind the lines, stretcher-bearer at 
the front, Rene lived with the regiment for 
more than two years. At the end of that 
time the colonel sent for him. Placing his 
hand on the boy’s shoulders, he said to him: 

“Sometime ago I should have called you a 
‘little man’; now, I greet you as a soldier of 
France. You are old enough to take your 
place with the men in the trenches and to 
wear our uniform. 

“You have served a long and painful ap¬ 
prenticeship, and I have watched your un¬ 
tiring, careful work. I could have delegated 
your captain to give you the good news, but 
I wanted to give myself the pleasure of hand¬ 
ing your rifle to you. Here it is. Take it. If 
you fight as well for your country as you have 


180 Little Heroes of France 

cooked for your regiment you will be a general 
some day.” 

Rene stayed with the regiment until he was 
slightly wounded about a month before the 
signing of the armistice. He kept Rough 
always with him, and when the nurses were 
sewing his service stripes on his uniform, he 
insisted that they put the same number on the 
cloth coat he had made for Rough to keep his 
four-footed friend warm as he watched beside 
him during the long, cold nights he was on 
duty as a sentinel. 


ETIENNE CHEVRILLE—THE BOY 
SHARPSHOOTER 



“Etienne climbed up onto the barrel , placed his rifle in 
position , and shouted at the top oj his lungs , ‘Long 
Live France! ’ ” 






































ETIENNE CHEVRILLE—THE BOY 
SHARPSHOOTER 


U P, LAZYBONES, do you think the 
birds will wait for you? The sun is 
already high in the heavens and I 
have been downstairs an hour or more.” 
Etienne turned his head on his pillow, yawned, 
and looked up at his father sleepily. 

“Come along. Jump out of bed, and hurry 
into your clothes! I have your coffee and bread 
ready on the table for you. If you are not at 
breakfast in ten minutes I shall leave you 
behind and go hunting alone,” said his father. 

This last threat roused the boy. He started 
to dress at once, and was soon busy eating as 
much as he could to prepare himself for the 
long tramp over the hills, while his father 
packed food in their knapsacks so that they 
could eat, and even, if necessary, sleep out in 
the open. 

Etienne’s mother had died when he was 
born, leaving the child as the only consolation 
183 


184 Little Heroes of France 

to the man who had loved her so dearly. The 
boy grew up, his father’s inseparable com¬ 
panion. They were great pals, and, as soon 
as he was old enough to carry a gun, his 
father took him on hunting expeditions twice 
or three times a week. 

Under his tuition Etienne became an 
expert shot while still quite young. Not only 
did he seldom fail to bring down a bird, but 
also, when the village held its annual fete, 
he always took the first prize for marks¬ 
manship, even in open competition with the 
men. Monsieur Chevrille was never tired of 
boasting to his friends of his son’s prowess, and 
made the boy practise on every possible 
occasion. 

“It is fine to be a good shot,” he told him. 
“It amuses you now to hunt with me and to be 
able to bring in game as presents for the 
neighbours, but what is more important is 
that when you come to serve your time in the 
army you will have one thing less to learn and 
you may even be able to win prizes for your 
regiment.” 

“It is not often that the things we like to do 
are good for us,” replied Etienne. “Anyway, 
I’m glad I know how to shoot.” 


Etienne Chevrille 185 

When the time came for him to help defend 
France, Etienne’s father kissed his son good¬ 
bye, begged him to be obedient, and to give as 
little trouble as possible to the family in 
whose care he was leaving him. 

Etienne pleaded hard with his father to be 
allowed to fight. He pointed out that he 
could shoot as well as any man, and that he, 
too, should be permitted to join the army 
opposing the invaders. When his father 
made him realize that he could not accompany 
him to war, and that no regiment would accept 
a thirteen-year-old boy, he promised that he 
would be a worthy son of France by doing the 
best he could at home. His father added: 

“You can help the women and the other 
children with the crops. The harvest will soon 
be ready and with so many men absent, 
you can take your place in the fields. After 
the long walks you have had with me, your 
muscles should be hardened, so that you can 
work longer than the other boys without 
feeling tired.” 

“Good!” answered Etienne. “You can 
depend on me, father. I will not shirk.” 

“You must also use your strength to defend 
the women and children if the occasion should 


186 Little Heroes of France 

arise. You must always think of others first 
and yourself last. You will discover, my 
boy, that in serving others you will find your 
own happiness, and that self-indulgence only 
leads to misery. I am telling you this now 
because it is a solemn moment for us both. I 
hope I may come back to you, but if I am 
killed on the battlefield, I should like to feel 
that my little son will grow up to be a real 
man.” 

Etienne tried to keep back his tears and 
answered, “I will, father, I will 1^ 

They embraced once more, the father 
stopping for a few minutes with his hand on 
the lad's head to bless him before he joined 
the rest of the men as they marched away 
singing and promising the villagers who re¬ 
mained behind that the enemy should never 
conquer France. 

Less than ten days after his father had gone 
the news was brought through that the enemy 
was advancing rapidly toward the village. 
Without thought of the sleeping boy confided 
to their care, the family with whom Etienne 
was staying left in the night with the other 
villagers, so that Etienne awoke next morning 
to find himself alone. 


Etienne Chevrille 187 

The roar of the cannons sounding nearer and 
nearer, he took refuge in an old hay loft. For 
two days and two nights he remained con¬ 
cealed, while through a small peephole he 
witnessed many desperate hand-to-hand fights 
between the French and the Germans. Time 
after time the French recaptured the village 
but were unable to hold it, owing to heavy 
German bombardment. Finally, they were 
obliged to retire, leaving their fallen comrades 
behind them. 

As Etienne’s throat was parched with thirst 
and he was tortured by hunger, he decided to 
climb down from his hiding-place to go in 
search of food, even though he risked death 
from a stray shot. He felt he would rather 
die in the open than like a rat hidden in the 
garret. 

Choosing a time when the enemy was not 
shelling the village, he crept down from his 
hiding-place.. Fearing capture, he stood for 
some time behind a door, watching to be sure 
that there were no Germans left in any of 
the houses. When he was satisfied that the 
village was entirely deserted, he moved warily 
from place to place, stooping behind the walls 
of the houses ruined by shell fire, trying never 


18 8 Little Heroes of France 

to expose himself at any point where he might 
come under enemy observation. He could 
hear their airplanes passing overhead and 
knew that with their long-distance glasses they 
could see any movement in the village. 

The main street was strewn with the bodies 
of the soldiers who had been left as dead by 
their comrades. As Etienne passed among 
them reverently, his heart full of grief for the 
brave men who had fallen, he was surprised to 
hear a low moan. He crawled cautiously to 
the side of the man from whom the sound 
seemed to come, and found that, severely 
wounded in the leg, he had fainted from 
exhaustion and loss of blood. 

Thinking no longer of his own safety, 
Etienne ran to a brook near by, filled his cap 
with water, and, kneeling by the soldier, 
loosened his collar and bathed his face and 
head. Opening his eyes and seeing only a 
child with him, the soldier tried to rise, but 
fell back groaning. His leg was far too badly 
shattered to allow him to stand. 

“Don’t try to move,” said Etienne. 

Just at that moment the enemy again 
opened fire. Shell after shell shrieked through 
the air, striking the houses all about them. 


Etienne Chevrille 189 

Roofs crashed down and the walls tumbled 
forward into the street. 

“What an awful bombardment! It is the 
worst I have been under since I went to war. 
The enemy must think our men are still 
here,” said the soldier. “Get under cover 
and save yourself, child. I am already use¬ 
less, and can never fight again. You must 
try to escape for, when you are older, France 
will need you.” 

“When I leave, you will go with me,” 
answered Etienne. 

Although really frightened, he stayed by the 
side of the man until the enemy, deciding that 
there were no French troops in the village, 
ceased firing. 

The soldier was deeply touched by the 
courage of his little comrade. Once more he 
tried to persuade the boy to escape while there 
was yet a chance of his reaching cover in 
safety. Etienne pretended to be angry with 
him, saying, 

“You are only a soldier of France like my¬ 
self. It is true I have not a uniform like you, 
but when I am old enough I shall have one. 
Meantime, I refuse to take orders from you. 
After all, you have only one leg, while I have 


190 Little Heroes of France 

two; so it is for you to obey me and do just 
what I say. The enemy or our own men may 
open fire again at any time. It is certainly 
not safe to leave you lying out here. There¬ 
fore, I am going to take you down into the 
cellar of the nearest house as quickly as 
possible.” 

“But you cannot move me and I cannot 
walk.” 

“I can’t lift you in my arms,” said fitienne, 
“ but I will fasten you to a plank, drag you 
across the ground, and let you down as gently 
as I can through the trap-door into the cellar.” 

He remembered that in the loft where he 
had been hiding he had seen just the kind of 
broad plank he required, and also some stout 
ropes. He fetched them, rolled the man’s 
body onto the plank, attached him to it 
strongly with the cords, dragged him to the 
trap-door, and lowered him into the cellar. 

The soldier suffered horribly from the 
rough handling, but he stifled his moans so 
that his little friend should not know how 
much he was enduring. Besides, he knew it 
was their only chance of living, and he was 
anxious to save the boy’s life as well as his 


own. 


Etienne Chevrille 191 

Once in the cellar, Etienne unbound the 
man from the plank, and out of some straw 
piled up in a corner he made him a bed on 
which he could lie fairly comfortably. To his 
great delight he found food on the shelves, 
and a number of bottles of wine. 

After Etienne fetched some water in a 
pail, bathed the man’s wounds, and, with a 
piece of linen torn from his own shirt, im¬ 
provised a rough bandage, he thought of him¬ 
self for the first time. 

He ate nearly a whole loaf of bread. Then 
laughing, said to the soldier, 

“If I had done this at once, I should not 
have needed the plank. I should have been 
strong enough to carry you.” 

“You have already placed too heavy a 
burden on your shoulders, young friend, in 
trying to save a helpless man. Now that I am 
suffering less pain and am out of immediate 
danger, won’t you go away? You can send 
someone to find me later on.” 

“Haven’t I told you that when I leave, you 
will be with me? Have you no faith in me at 
all?” replied Etienne. 

The soldier saw that he had hurt the boy’s 
feelings, so he hastened to assure him: “In- 


192 Little Heroes of France 

deed, I believe in your courage! You have 
already proved that.” 

Etienne sat by the soldier's side, and told 
him of his father and the happy days they had 
spent together. In the evening, when all 
seemed quiet without, the boy went on a 
scouting expedition. As darkness had fallen 
by this time, it appeared to him that he could 
go out in comparative safety. 

When he told the soldier of his decision, the 
man urged him to go. He thought that, 
after all, the boy had tired of staying with him 
and meant to abandon him. Later he was sorry 
he had doubted him, for he came back, trailing 
two rifles behind him, and around his waist 
were several belts of cartridges which he had 
picked up in the street. Whispering, he said, 

“We must be careful not to make any sound 
that might betray our presence. The Ger¬ 
mans are back in the village. I have brought 
in guns so that we can defend ourselves.” 

“Did you see how many there were?” 

“Yes, I think only four, but I am not quite 
sure. They are down in one of the cellars, 
sitting around a candle playing cards.” 

“Only four,” said the soldier. “They must 
be scouts sent out to see if the village is 


Etienne Chevrille 


193 

deserted so as to prevent their artillery 
wasting shells on the place if there are no 
troops here. I expect they are waiting for 
daylight as they fear to lose their way if they 
try to return to their own lines in the dark.” 

“There may be more of them,” answered 
Etienne. “I thought I saw a group of men 
lying on the floor, but, as I could only look 
through a small slit in the trap-door of the 
cellar, which was very dimly lighted, I could 
not distinguish anything very clearly.” 

During the long hours of the night Etienne 
kept watch while the wounded Frenchman 
rested, but finally, worn out by fatigue, he fell 
asleep. The soldier awoke first and looked at 
the sleeping boy. 

“Brave little man,” he murmured. “Per¬ 
haps he is giving his life for me while I can do 
nothing to help him.” 

At daybreak Etienne announced that he 
would go out once more to see whether the 
Germans had left the village. Within a few 
minutes he was back, his face flushed with 
anger. 

“I have seen the boches again, the same 
ones I watched last night,” he reported. 
“There are four of them escorting twenty 


194 Little Heroes of France 

French prisoners, their hands bound behind 
their backs, some of them with their wounds 
unbandaged, all of them pale and tired. The 
Germans have tied the ends of the ropes to 
their horses so that our men cannot escape.” 

Roused at the thought of the plight of the 
prisoners, the wounded soldier tried to rise, 
but fell back helpless on the straw. 

“I cannot move my leg,” he exclaimed. 
“It is awful to be so near and yet not be able 
to help my comrades!” 

“Don't give up hope so easily,” cried 
Etienne. “I have an idea of my own. All 
you need do is to load the guns for me and I 
will watch through a hole in the top of the 
cellar wall. I can reach it easily by standing 
on a barrel. There is also another hole 
through which I can put a rifle. I promise 
you the first boche who shows himself will get 
a punctured skin.” 

“But they may not pass this way,” an¬ 
swered the man. 

“Yes, they will, because I will attract their 
attention by calling them.” 

“Call them?” repeated the soldier. 

“Yes, why not? You are not afraid of 
death if we fail, are you?” 


Etienne Chevrille 


195 


“Certainly not.” 

“Well, then, do what I ask. Load the 
rifles. I will do the rest.” 

Etienne climbed up onto the barrel, placed 
his rifle in position, and shouted at the top of 
his lungs: 

“Long live France!” 

Thinking to capture yet another prisoner, 
the Germans turned their horses and started 
down the street in the direction from which 
the sound had come. As soon as they came 
into view, Etienne fired, and the first Uhlan 
fell from his horse. Before they had time to 
realize whence the firing came, a second shot 
rang out and another man dropped from the 
saddle. 

Etienne had helped the wounded man drag 
himself near the barrel on which he was stand¬ 
ing. The soldier loaded the rifles, while 
the boy rapidly discharged shot after shot so 
as to give the impression that a number of 
soldiers were in the village. The two re¬ 
maining Germans, fearing that they had fallen 
into an ambush, dropped the ropes holding 
the prisoners and putting spurs to their horses 
fled, leaving the twenty Frenchmen behind 
them. 


196 Little Heroes of France 

Out of his cellar came Etienne, triumphant, 
and began loosening the ropes binding the 
prisoners' hands. * The liberated men would 
not believe at first that they had been saved by 
a child, but finally realizing this to be true, 
they crowded around to congratulate and 
thank him. 

“Thank me later," he said to the French¬ 
men. “Before you think of me I have work 
for you to do. We have a wounded ‘poilu’ 
to save. Come down into the cellar and have 
some food. We will then take turns keeping 
watch until nightfall in case the Germans re¬ 
turn." 

Each of the men secured a rifle from one of 
his fallen comrades, thus preparing to defend 
himself in case of an attack, but the enemy did 
not come back. Probably they were too busy 
in another quarter, or possibly they did not 
wish to admit to their comrades that they had 
run away from the French. 

After they were well fed and rested the 
soldiers fetched a number of planks, and 
improvised a rough stretcher on which they 
placed the wounded man. When night came, 
guided by Etienne, who knew the country 
well, they started toward the French lines 


Etienne Chevrille 


197 

carrying their comrade. They reached their 
destination safely, and Etienne was adopted 
by the regiment as a “poilu.” 

Later, his father had him transferred to his 
own company, and, side by side, father and 
son fought for France. 


t 








EMILE DEERES 





* 





“He seized the rifle , pretended to aim 
at the heart of the Frenchman , then 
rapidly turning on his heel , shot 
straight at the German officer , killing 
him instantly 





































EMILE DEPRES 


E MILE DEPRES lived with his wid¬ 
owed mother in one of the smallest 
cottages in the village of Lourches, 
which is situated in the heart of the coal min¬ 
ing district of northern France. 

He was a studious, quiet boy who pro¬ 
gressed so well in school that early in June, 
1914, the teacher, knowing that the family 
was in straitened circumstances, excused him 
from further attendance in class, telling him 
he need not return after the summer holidays. 

“I am glad to give you your certificate,” 
she said. “You can now commence at once 
to help your mother.” 

“Mother is so brave. She tries to keep me 
from seeing how tired she is,” answered Emile, 
“but I know that she works too hard. You 
may rely on me, Mademoiselle. I will lose no 
time or opportunity to do my best to help her.” 

The boy was delighted to be free from 
school. For years he had watched his mother 


201 


202 Little Heroes of France 

growing more and more weary and old, striv¬ 
ing to keep a roof over their heads and to 
clothe and feed them. 

Without consulting her, Emile went to see 
the manager of one of the largest mines. The 
man, who knew the child by repute, was quite 
willing to allow him to begin work at once. 

When Emile arrived home he said to his 
mother: 

“I have good news for you. The teacher 
has given me my study certificate, and the 
manager of the mines is willing to take me as 
a pit-boy.” 

“Do you want to live underground and 
leave me alone all day?” asked his mother. 
“No, child, I shall not listen to any such pro¬ 
posal. You are far too young to work in the 
mines.” 

“But, mother, I am fourteen years old. 
Adrian, Joseph, and even Jean who is only 
thirteen, a year younger than myself, are al¬ 
ready earning good wages. Please don’t re¬ 
fuse me. You have slaved for years to look 
after me and bring me up. Now I want to do 
something for you.” 

“Later on, son, you can start to be a bread¬ 
winner. Two years from now I shall encour- 


Emile T)epres 203 

age you to work— I am the last person to want 
you to grow up a lazy good-for-nothing.” 

“The manager of the mine told me this 
morning that they are short of men/’ persisted 
the boy. “He would give me better pay now 
than at any future time.” 

“Don’t be obstinate, Emile,” answered his 
mother. “I am still strong enough to provide 
food and shelter for you. Now go and play 
with the other children. Do not try to be a 
man before you are a boy. As for the high 
wages, as you grow older you will understand 
that money cannot buy health or happiness.” 

Emile saw that he would gain nothing by 
arguing. 

“Of course, mother,” he said, “I will do as 
you wish, but it does seem hard that you will 
not let me help you. I should be so glad to 
feel that I am no longer a burden to you.” 

“You are never a burden. Did you ever 
hear me speak of you that way? Little Emile, 
dear son,” and his mother drew him down on 
her knee. Emile forgot he was fourteen— 
none of us is ever too old to like, sometimes, 
to be cuddled by those who love us. 

A few weeks later the villagers heard of the 
declaration of war. Most of the men left 


204 Little Heroes of France 

immediately to join the army. Many of 
them were exempted from military service as 
their work in the mines was as necessary for 
the carrying on of the war as work in the 
trenches. There was, however, a grave short¬ 
age of labour and the government was 
anxious that the mines should produce coal 
as rapidly as possible. Emile again ap¬ 
proached his mother for permission to accept 
the job offered him before. This time she 
could not refuse, for she knew that France 
needed every one of her sons and daughters to 
fight or toil for her. 

It was a proud and happy day for the boy 
when he brought home his first earnings to the 
devoted mother who had struggled so long 
to do everything for him. He looked forward 
to the time when he would receive more money. 

“Soon I shall earn higher wages, mother,” 
he boasted. “Then there will be no need for 
you to work any more.” 

“You are helping me a great deal,” she 
answered. “Since the outbreak of war food 
has risen so much in price that I do not know 
how we should live without your assistance. 
Only I beg you to take care of yourself.” 

There was a note of anxiety in her voice 


Emile Depres 205 

as she talked to him. Her observant eyes 
had noticed that the boy looked pale and 
tired when he returned from work at night. 
She did all she could to look after him. Every 
morning she packed his dinner pail full of good, 
nourishing food and made him show her that 
he had clean, dry straw in his little wooden 
shoes. Naturally, the work underground was 
trying for a child accustomed to be out in the 
open air. 

Emile had only been in the mine three weeks 
when the terrible news came through to the 
village that overwhelming forces of the enemy 
had defeated the French and their British 
Allies. It was impossible to save the northern 
provinces from invasion, and, with the deepest 
regret, the French High Command realized 
that the mines must fall into the hands of the 
Germans. The miners were drafted into the 
army, only a sufficient number of men being 
left behind to keep the pumps going, while 
they had instructions to flood the mines when 
the enemy arrived, so as not to leave them in 
working condition for the Germans. Believing 
that their youth would protect them, Emile 
with a few other boys was allowed to stay 
behind to look after the pit ponies. 


206 Little Heroes of France 

The villagers who remained in their homes 
were soon cut off from communication with 
the rest of France, so that it was not long be¬ 
fore they faced starvation. Emile and his 
mother lived on the produce of their garden, 
sharing all they could with their less-fortunate 
neighbours. 

The boy was always bright and cheerful, 
but he had listened too often to old Jean 
Petaux telling tales of the war of 1870 not to 
understand the danger threatening them all. 
The old man had fought the Germans then, 
had been taken prisoner, and had escaped by 
jumping from a train in motion. He had 
described to Emile vividly the horror of those 
days and the sufferings of the French peasantry 
who had been unfortunate enough to be in 
the track of the victorious German Army. 

Lourches was the centre of some of the most 
desperate fighting. The French did not 
abandon it without a struggle. When they 
were finally forced to retire they left behind 
them many of their dying comrades, knowing 
that the men would be cared for tenderly by 
the inhabitants. 

During the action Emile was in the mine. 
When he came above ground he found that 


Emile Depres 207 

the village was occupied by the German 
troops who were busily fortifying the newly 
captured position against a probable French 
counter-attack. His first thought was of his 
mother, and he lost no time in regaining his 
home. 

He found that Madame Depres, with the 
help of some neighbours, had carried a 
wounded French sergeant into her cottage, 
and had placed him on a mattress in the cor¬ 
ner of their small room. Emile helped his 
mother dress the man’s wounds as well as she 
could, while they did all in their power to 
soothe his pain. 

“I know I am dying,” said the soldier, “but 
I wish I could tell you how much it means to 
have you here with me.” 

“You are dying for France, and I envy 
you,” replied Emile. 

Their defence works completed, the Ger¬ 
mans were billeted in the homes of the villagers 
where they showed but little courtesy or kind¬ 
ness to the frightened people who were forced 
to receive such unwelcome guests. They 
also commenced a systematic house-to-house 
search, seizing for their own use any food they 
could find. 


2o8 Little Heroes of France 

The bodies rushed into the Depres cottage, 
and broke open all the cupboards, seeking for 
supplies. Emile, who was kneeling beside the 
wounded man, was horrified to see a trooper 
threatening to beat his.mother with the butt 
end of a musket because they had found noth¬ 
ing, while she protested that she had no wine 
and no food to give them. 

The poor woman was telling the truth when 
she said she had nothing to offer to the brutal 
oppressors. They refused, however, to be¬ 
lieve her statements and one of the men, 
lifting his gun, struck her across the head. 
She fell in a heap, stretching out her arms 
toward her son, crying to him to help her. 

Emile dashed from his place by the side of 
the disabled man. He flung himself on his 
knees, and grasped the leg of a German 
major who was standing watching his soldiers. 

“I implore you to be merciful,” he said. 
“For pity's sake order your men not to hurt 
mother.” 

“No one will harm either of you if you show 
us where you have hidden your money and 
food.” 

“Mother told you the truth. We have 
nothing to give you.” 


Emile Depres 209 

“You are telling lies,” answered the officer. 
“You French people always have secret 
hoards of provisions somewhere.” 

“I assure you we have been without food 
for days,” said Emile. “You can see how 
pale and thin I am; yet my mother loves me 
dearly. She would have fed me if she had 
anything to give me.” 

The officer refused to listen to the child, 
and impatiently kicked him out of his way. 
Meantime, the wounded French sergeant, 
driven to desperation by the cruel treatment 
of the helpless woman and child who had tried 
to comfort him, made an effort to rise from 
the mattress, but fell back, groaning. Sud¬ 
denly he remembered that during the fighting 
he had picked up the revolver of a fallen officer, 
and had hidden it in his pocket. Taking the 
pistol in his hand, he opened fire on the Ger¬ 
mans from the corner of the room. 

No one was hit for he could not aim and all 
the shots went wild; but the officer gave an 
order: the soldiers seized the sergeant and 
dragged him out into the street. There was 
no question of a trial. The Frenchman was 
placed against the wall of the cottage, while 
the troops lined up to execute him. He was 


210 Little Heroes of France 

so weak from loss of blood and was suffering 
so horribly from the pain of his wounds that 
he could not stand, but he faced death cou¬ 
rageously. 

During the time that the German major was 
giving the final orders for the execution to the 
firing squad little Emile left the women who 
had gathered around Madame Depres, and 
crept to the side of his friend, anxious to 
thank him for the assistance he had tried to 
give to his mother and himself. 

“Little friend,” whispered the condemned 
soldier, “my lips are parched with thirst. 
You will repay me for anything I have tried 
to do if, before I die, you would get me some 
water.” 

The boy ran into the house, and returned 
almost immediately with a cup of water; but 
before he had time to place it to the man’s 
mouth it was struck out of his hand by the 
German officer who, white with rage, turned 
on the boy, saying: 

“You are nothing but a young scoundrel. 
You were impertinent to me a short time ago 
and now under my very eyes you have at¬ 
tempted to give comfort to a French pig! As 
an example to the rest of the villagers of what 


211 


Emile Depres 

they may expect if they disobey my orders, 
you shall die with him.” 

Turning to his men he commanded them 
to tie the boy up securely. Cords were 
placed around the child and he was thrown 
down beside his comrade, the sergeant. Not 
a word escaped from his lips, but great tears 
rolled down his cheeks when he thought of his 
mother lying insensible on the cottage floor 
and of the terrible awakening that would come 
to her. 

No one can tell what thoughts passed 
through the mind of the German officer. May¬ 
be he had a boy at home of his own, or perhaps 
he had a moment of pity and remorse, during 
which he realized that he was condemning an 
innocent child to death for nothing but an act 
of mercy. Whatever the reason, he com¬ 
manded that the cords should be untied, and 
the boy set free. Then, laughing, he asked 
Emile: 

“Well, I gave you a good fright, didn’t I?” 

“I fear neither death nor you,” answered 
the boy. 

“Good!” said the major. “I see you are 
really brave, so I will give you a chance to 
save your life. Then you shall go with us and 


212 Little Heroes of France 

march with the regiment into Paris. Take 
this gun and kill the French sergeant yourself. 
It will save my men just that much trouble.” 

Emile hesitated for a few seconds. Then 
he turned to the major, and said: 

“Give me the gun.” 

He seized the rifle, pretended to aim at the 
heart of the Frenchman, then rapidly turning 
on his heel, shot straight at the German officer, 
killing him instantly. 

“Now!” he shouted. “He will not kill 
another Frenchman, nor strike the mother of 
another boy.” 

The German soldiers flung themselves on 
Emile, piercing him with their bayonets. He 
fell to the ground, mortally wounded, but 
crawled to the side of the French sergeant. 
Placing his little hand in that of the man, he 
looked first at him, then at the German troops, 
and with one last feeble cry of, “Long live 
France!” he died. 


HENRIETTE MAUBERT 



“Sullenly they flung up their hands , 
at the same time begging for mercy ” 











HENRIETTE MAUBERT 


T HE defeat of the Germans at the Bat¬ 
tle of the Marne was a bitter blow to 
their hopes and ambitions. They had 
been so close to Paris that they had almost 
captured the city. It was all very well for 
their officers to tell them they were retreating 
for stragetic reasons, but the men knew that 
they were in flight before the victorious 
French armies. 

They vented their spite on the unfortunate 
villages, burning and pillaging as they passed 
through them. Most of the houses had been 
deserted, their occupants having fled at the 
time of the German advance. Henri Maubert, 
however, had been unable to leave with the 
rest, for his wife was lying sick, and it would 
have killed her to put her on an ordinary 
farm wagon, to jolt her over the rough roads. 
He tried to get a place for her in an ambu¬ 
lance, but, failing to do this, decided, finally, 
to remain beside his wife. He tried to per- 


2 i 6 Little Heroes of France 

suade his little daughter, Henriette, who was 
ten years old, to go away with some of their 
friends, but the child refused to leave him. 

“If you are not afraid of the Germans, why 
should I be, father?” 

“I am afraid of them, but I cannot leave 
mother.” 

“But you can't do everything that is 
necessary for her. I'd rather stay.” 

“Very well, Henriette,” answered her father. 
“I hope that no harm will come to any of us.” 

Really, M. Maubert was glad the child 
wished to remain. He felt it his duty to give 
her a chance to escape, but he had heard so 
many stories of children, confided to the care 
of friends, lost en route, and never found 
again by their parents, that he was pleased to 
keep Henriette by his side. 

When the Germans first captured the 
village they took all the food they could find 
in the houses, but did not injure in any way 
the people whom they found. They did not 
remain long, but marched out next day, shout¬ 
ing that they did not want to sleep in villages, 
for within a week they would have good beds 
in Paris. 

They were in a different mood when they 


Henriette Ma ubert 217 

returned, their plans of conquest frustrated. 
At the commencement, their flight was so rapid 
that they could only threaten the Mauberts 
as they passed, and hurl insults at them. 

“Why should they talk to us that way?” 
asked Henriette. “We have done nothing 
to them.” 

“They are angry, Henriette. It should 
make us happy to see them in that mood as it 
means the French are winning.” 

“But surely they will not burn the house, 
as they shouted to us to-day, when they see 
mother lying sick.” 

“I do not count too much on their com¬ 
passion,” answered her father. “We can only 
hope they will not have time to do much mis¬ 
chief. Keep up your courage, dear.” 

Next day a troop of cavalry arrived and 
tethered their horses in the courtyard. They 
visited the house, carefully overturning every¬ 
thing, breaking open drawers and cupboards, 
even pushing the sick woman off the mattress 
on which she was lying, and ripping it open 
to see if there was any money hidden in it. 

They found nothing, so, calling M. Maubert, 
they said: 

“You have hidden your money where we 


218 Little Heroes of France' 

cannot find it. Now then, hand it over to 
us.” 

“I have none to give you. Last time your 
people passed this way, they took everything 
I had from me.” 

“You are lying!” 

They bound M. Maubert’s arms behind his 
back, and, in spite of Henriette’s tears and 
pleadings, marched him away with them, 
promising that he would regret his opposition 
to their wishes when he found himself working 
in the stone quarries in Germany. 

Eight of the men remained behind to search 
the other houses in the village. 

“If we cannot get money, at any rate we 
can have wine. Where do you keep it, child ? ” 
said one of the men to Henriette. 

“In our cellar.” 

“Show us how to reach it and play no tricks 
or we promise you the worst thrashing you 
have had in your life.” 

“No one has ever beaten me,” replied Henri¬ 
ette. “ Followme. I will take you to the cellar.” 

As in most of the houses in the French 
villages, the cellar was reached through a trap¬ 
door in the kitchen. The Germans climbed 
down, one by one, and soon Henriette heard 


Henriette Maubert 219 

them breaking off the necks of the bottles, 
shouting and laughing. They wanted to 
drink as much as they could as quickly as 
possible, and then rejoin their comrades. 

Henriette began to cry when she thought of 
her mother sick upstairs and her father sent 
as a prisoner into Germany to work under the 
lash, perhaps to starve to death. It hurt her 
to know that people could laugh and drink in 
the midst of so much misery. 

Her mother called for her, and she went 
upstairs to give her a cup of water. She did 
not dare to break the news of her father's 
capture; she only said that M. Maubert had 
thought it better to remain out of sight until 
the enemy had gone on. The sick woman 
accepted the explanation of her husband's 
absence and warned Henriette to keep away 
from the soldiers herself. When her mother 
fell asleep, Henriette went downstairs to find 
something with which to make at least a soup 
for her mother when she should wake, for they 
had eaten nothing since the night before. She 
hoped the soldiers had gone but was surprised to 
find that they were still in the cellar, although 
they were making less noise. Some of them had 
dropped off to sleep, while the others were still 


220 Little Heroes of France 

drinking heavily. Henriette peeped down 
cautiously, and suddenly an idea flashed 
across her mind. She slammed down the 
trap-door, and pushed the heavy bolts in 
place. Immediately one of the men ran up the 
ladder, hammered on the door, and shrieked at 
her to open it. On the top of the trap she 
pushed a table, piling on it the copper pots 
and pans, in fact, everything heavy she could 
find. 

“Now,” she said to herself, “they are 
prisoners. They can shout all they wish. I 
shall not open the door until the French come. 
They had no pity for us; they robbed and 
stole everything we had, and even took my 
father away from me.” 

She went out into the village to tell the old 
men and women who remained behind at the 
time of the flight of the other inhabitants 
what she had done. They came, one by one, 
to listen to the Germans beating on the trap¬ 
door, first threatening and then imploring the 
child to release them. 

“You are in great danger, Henriette,” said 
one old lady. “If another detachment should 
pass this way before our men arrive, you will 
be shot. None of us will be able to save you.” 


Henriette Maubert 221 

“I know,” the child replied, “but it is 
worth while taking the risk. I have not seen 
any Germans for hours, and this last group 
were in such a hurry that I feel our soldiers 
must be following close on their heels.” 

Henriette was not mistaken. Two hours 
later Farmer Mavret came in to say: 

“I have seen the French troops in the dis¬ 
tance. Thank God, we shall be free again.” 

“Will you go up and talk to mother so that 
she will not miss me?” said Henriette. “I 
will go out to meet the soldiers and tell them 
what has happened.” 

Henriette ran to meet the French, and said 
to the officer: 

“Most of the Germans left the village 
hours ago, but eight of them remained behind 
drinking in our cellar. I have locked them in. 
Will you please come quickly?” 

At first the captain doubted her story, but 
when the child told him further details, he 
laughed. 

“Here is a good joke, boys,” he said to his 
men. “This little girl is certainly a fine rat 
catcher.” 

He followed Henriette to her home with a 
detachment of his soldiers. The table was 


222 Little Heroes of France 

removed, the trap-door opened, and the 
Germans climbed out to find themselves 
covered by the rifles of the Frenchmen. 
Sullenly they flung up their hands, at the 
same time begging for mercy. 

“I do not see why I should show you any 
kindness,” said the officer. “You have 
treated these people with the greatest 
brutality. This child tells me your men have 
carried her father off into captivity.” 

“We did not do it; we just obeyed orders,” 
said a non-commissioned officer as spokesman 
for his comrades. 

“It does not matter to me how, or why, you 
conducted yourselves as you have done,” 
replied the captain. “You have been caught 
redhanded in the act of pillaging and should 
all be shot, but I will give you a chance to live 
on one condition. The father of this child 
must be back here before daybreak to¬ 
morrow, or else you will all die.” 

“How can we get him? All our comrades 
rode away hours ago.” 

“I know that they have gone on ahead, but 
as they have not been able to change horses, 
they cannot have travelled very far. One of 
you can take this horse, which has been resting 


Henriette Maubert 223 

while you were drinking. He should be able 
to catch up with the detachment.” 

Turning to one of the Germans, he said: 
“ You look the most intelligent and seem to be 
less drunk than the rest. Jump on your 
horse. Gallop after your men. Go straight to 
your commanding officer, and when you find 
him tell him that seven of his men, one of them 
a non-commissioned officer, have fallen into 
our hands. You will make him understand 
that unless the civilian Henri Maubert, 
whom they have carried off contrary to all 
rules of war, is given a horse and set free so 
that he reaches here before dawn to-morrow, 
all seven of the prisoners will be shot/' 

The man left immediately, while the other 
seven Germans were placed under guard to 
await the outcome. 

Henriette could no longer keep the news of 
what had taken place from her mother. 

All night long they waited, hoping to hear 
the beat of the horses* hoofs. At last their 
ears caught the welcome sound, and in a few 
moments M. Maubert rushed in and flung his 
arms around them both. 


THE END 



THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

































































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